Martin's Shadow
by Sycrylacryl
Summary: What would you do, if an Emperor gave you a pretty necklace and told you to check up on his illegitimate son? Try not to get stabbed most bloody likely. Then keep the world from being tossed into a daedric fireplace. [Dark humor]
1. Chapter 1 - Fate can be poorly planned

**Individual chapters may have warnings particular to their content (i.e. violence, language). I will also try to add a theme song for each chapter: for fun! Thank you for reading. Martin shows up in Chapter 5, if you want to know. You're welcome. :p**

* * *

"The real hero is always a hero by mistake; he dreams of being an honest coward like everybody else."

\- Umberto Eco

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Chapter 1 – Fate can be poorly planned

The White-Gold Tower shone brilliantly in the pink and gold sunset, reaching for the embrace of darkening clouds and sky. Walls rose, arches and buttresses linked in unbroken circlets of seamless ancient stone. And beyond the spectacle of ages, away from the busy cobbled streets of Cyrodiil's capital, deep underground, in a nasty, rank dungeon – a prisoner squat in the darkness.

In the blackest cranny of that cell she awaited execution. The gallows would be readied the coming morn. A thorough search of the place revealed no way out. Bargaining with the guards would be useless without gold, as the prisoner had been stripped of everything. This prison was especially thorough compared to others she'd been detained in before. Still, the prisoner was not ready to give in to despair. She would find a way to escape the Void again, by blood or cunning.

At least the prisoner did not face death by herself. She received ample sympathy from a skeleton and the ravenous oversized rats gnawing on it. Of far lesser company there was the vile fetcher across the way.

"Yeah, you'll get what's coming to you! Those Imperials are going to get you good. Heh. Nothing that a filthy little whore like you don't deserve! Got nothing to say, eh? Think you're so high and mighty? Hah! S'wit!"

The third spitball narrowly missed the prisoner's cell gate. Amused with this, he continued to cackle until cut short by a fit of retching. The unimpressed prisoner in the shadows brushed a few spiders from her shoulder. Then, the tortuous creak of a rusted metal door carried itself to her ears. They twitched in anticipation.

The foul elf resumed his taunting: "Hey, you hear that? The guards are coming… for you! He he he he!"

Footsteps echoed in the hazy corridor. In single file, an entourage of heavily armored warriors descended to the prisoners' level, whispering among themselves. Until one of them hit his head on a low door beam and started cursing at the Nine Divines. A weary voice then came, "My sons… they're dead-"

"This godsdamned helmet is stuck!"

"… aren't they?" The lamenter sounded utterly heartbroken.

"No sire, I'm sure-" a female voice interjected.

"It won't bloody come off! Stendarr and Mara in a-"

"Oh, Daedra take you Ferris!" shouted the woman.

"No," the lamenter continued hauntingly, "No, they're dead. I know it."

A majestically attired man stepped into the torchlight among his escort, in robes of precious stones, velvet, and sable. A myriad of rings glittered on his fingers, and the most expensive looking ruby amulet the prisoner had ever seen hung about his neck. His face looked noble, perhaps even regal. Deep lines criss-crossed his face: no doubt from years of worry about money and dreary upper-class things.

The entourage collected around the bars of the prisoner's cage. A woman in fancy armor stepped forward.

"What's this prisoner doing here? This cell is supposed to be off-limits!" barked the stern warrior. "Hm, nevermind. Get that gate open. Stand back prisoner! We will not hesitate to kill you if you get in our way!"

_Well she's touchy_. Rising from her spot of contemplation, the prisoner backed into a cold, grimy wall furthest from the interlopers. The bars swung open. A few cautious warriors approached, torches blazing and sizzling. At first, they could only see the dim, thin outline of a person. Then two crimson circles appeared in the dark.

"Those eyes, like chasms of fire," the stately man whispered, slowly passing through his bodyguards. _Is that uppity lord making fun of me?_ "You… I've seen you before. Let me look upon your face."

"Remove your hood!" demanded the female warrior in fancy armor.

The prisoner lowered it.

Her skin barely shone in the torchlight, and her short hair did not catch any light at all. A young Dunmer.

The robed man paused, then said, "You are the one from my dreams. Then the stars were right… and this is the day. Gods give me strength." He shook is his head in weariness.

"I am your Emperor, Uriel Septim. By the grace of the Gods, I serve Tamriel as her ruler."

The Emperor continued on to explain the plot against his sons' life and his own. The escape route. His Blade defenders. Everything was put forth, without a single sign of acknowledgement from a thoroughly stunned Dunmer.

"Perhaps the Gods have placed you here so that we may meet. As for what you have done… it does not matter. That is not what you will be remembered for."

_The Emperor. Really? The _Emperor_? Did the guards slip some skooma into my water jug?_

"You are a citizen of Tamriel, and you too, shall serve her in your own way. And take care… There will be blood and death before the end."

"What?" the Dunmer finally spoke, with a voice more breath that sound. Her eyes met the Emperor's. "By the path the moons weave, why me?"

"Please sire, we must keep moving," cut in the impatient female Blade. Reaching out for the slimy cell wall, she felt inside a crevice the prisoner had noticed before, but foolishly disregarded. The wall began to shake, stone ground against stone, dust and cobwebs rained down upon them. An exit opened up and the entourage wasted no time rushing the Emperor into the passage beyond. Once they descended into the gloom, the Dunmer took a cautious step forward.

_Freedom_. Her muscles relaxed, even though her mind still whirred. Unfortunately, there was little time to think this puzzle over. _Best to get far away from here and stay alive._ It was a wonderful feeling, allowing the darkness to envelop her in its embrace. Her footfalls became silent, her breath quietened. A black, lithe form clung to the walls and columns, where an elf had been. Then it disappeared.

* * *

"Protect the Emperor! Hrrgh!" The fearless bodyguards charged forth with savage devotion, swords brandished in the fray. Swirls of red and gold danced among them. A shrill cry was followed by laments of Captain Renault's death. The female warrior from before it seemed. The Dunmer prisoner watched passively as this transpired from a distance.

It was a poor view from atop a fallen column, that had in ages past smashed through an adjoining room. She would've seen it all much better, had the blighted prison guards not taken her Night-Eye and alchemical things. Bunch of Wafiit! That really made her angrier than anything. Materials painstakingly collected, dried, and organized. Equipment fastidiously cleaned and maintained. Poisons and potions for everything. Months and months of effort. All gone. She felt like stabbing someone.

"How could they be waiting for us here?" cried one of the bodyguards in frustration.

"Don't know, but it's too late to go back now," said another.

The Dunmer continued to wait for the Blades and Emperor to move ahead. Once they left she would be able to loot the corpses and discover more about what was going on.

"I'll take point," a Blade opened a gate and signalled the entourage to move. "Where's that Dunmer gone off to? Huh." He shouted: "Keep your distance prisoner, don't try following us now."

_I'm not _that_ stupid. You've got assassins tailing you and you're as loud as a herd of elephants. _

Once the rusted iron gates shut behind them all, the elf performed a graceful somersault to the ground. Keeping her eyes moving to every dark corner, she moved cautiously towards the bodies. She liberated the captain of her short sword and torch, then turned her attention to the others.

There were three of them, in dark red and black robes. Each had a yellow sun emblazoned on their chest. _Not a single weapon or piece of armor? That's bizarre. _The only useful thing to be found was a weak healing potion.

Sorely tempted to light the torch but not doing so, the Dunmer looked around for an alternative exit.

* * *

Despite efforts to find another way out of the Ayleid labyrinth, the Dunmer found herself intercepting the Emperor and his Blades yet again. Raised cries announced the arrival of more assassins. The fools were trapped in a web of dark tunnels, with no map and no plan. The worst possible situation for them, and the best for their pursuers. Watching their skirmishing from another hole in the wall, the Dunmer took a misstep and crumbling stone made her lose her footing. With a yelp she fell hard on the ground, right on her back. Her head started to swim.

"Dammit, it's that prisoner again! Kill her, she might be working with the assassins!" A chorus of shuffling footsteps drew near.

_Don't start that with me. I do not associate with flashy cultists. _

"No, she is not one of them. She can help us. She _must_ help us."

Shoulders hunched, the Dunmer closed her eyes shut. She felt the clinking armor all around her, and now realized she was completely surrounded, and utterly screwed.

_Nope. Nope. Nope. _

The Dunmer felt two sets of gauntleted hands grab her arms firmly, lifting her to her feet. She opened her eyes and found herself face to face with the Emperor.

He sighed. "The others do not understand why I trust you. But I do. How can I explain…? Please. Listen. You know the Nine? How They guide our fates with an invisible hand?"

The Dunmer knew an altogether different pantheon than the Imperials did. Though the disrespectful individuals had suggested that both sets of gods were one and the same. Perhaps it was true? In any case, the Dunmer had done little to honor or abide them in anyway. Thievery and law-breaking offended them. Except good old Baan Dar, bless him.

Currently, the old Emperor had decided that it was a good time to launch into a rant about stars. While his Blades stood there, covered in the blood of their enemies and freezing their asses off, he asked her birth sign. Was the leader of Tamriel really giving her an astronomy lesson in a dungeon?

"The Shadow," was all the Dunmer said, with a quizzical expression.

"The signs I read show the end of my path. My death, a necessary end, will come when it will come."

_That makes sense, you're not exactly getting younger._

"However, your stars are not mine. Today the Shadow shall guide your steps on the road to destiny."

"Wait," the Dunmer began quietly. "Are you saying you can see the future?"

"Not exactly. My dreams do not venture beyond the doors of death. But in your face, I behold the sun's companion. The dawn of Akatosh's bright glory may banish the coming darkness."

The Dunmer gave the Emperor an irritated look. _I'm a dark elf. _Dark_. Born under the Shadow. There is not one thing 'bright' or 'sunny' about me._

"With such hope, and with the promise of your aid, my heart must be satisfied." _Yup_. _He's going to get me killed._

The Emperor went on to illustrate his coming doom in front of the Dunmer and his men (which of course had to instill the greatest confidence in his bodyguards), and then beckoned her to follow. _Maybe when he dies, he'll leave me that gigantic amulet in his will and testament. I can sell it one jewel at a time and replace all my equipment. That's something to look forward to, isn't it? That's a plan.  
_

* * *

On the shores of the Rumare, at the foot of a sewer culvert, an elf girl lay exhausted in the sand. Muddy and cobwebbed, a rotten leather helmet rent in two sat on her head. Bare toes poked out of her musty boots. She wore no greaves or gauntlets, and her leather cuirass was probably a hundred years old. In this dejection and filth, she raised the Amulet of Kings to the sky to catch the welcoming morning sunlight.

The ruby alone was probably more septims than she could imagine. A new adventure outside of Cyrodiil beckoned. What did she owe a dead Emperor anyways? Still, he had begged her for help so earnestly…

Trapped in an atrium with the remainder of the group, the Dunmer stood at the sovereign of Tamriel's side to the last. His remaining bodyguards fought to the death. The prisoner could only stand there and listen to the struggle in the next room. It was then that the old Emperor turned to her. He talked about things that didn't make much sense, but became ingrained in her memory. About the Prince of Destruction, Oblivion, and a surviving son. He bestowed the Amulet of Kings to her.

Then a wall slid down behind Uriel Septim and an assassin stabbed him in the back. The poor man's life was extinguished in a moment. Little time was there for pity. The assassin threw a dagger into the prisoner's shoulder, barely missing her heart. If Baurus had not stepped in to defend her, she would've died.

The Redguard had many questions for her after he realized the extent of their situation. Failure to protect the Emperor's life entailed the Dunmer continue the mysterious crusade, and alone. Baurus gave her a key, a map, and sent her on into the sewers. Thinking back, the Dunmer remembered Baurus mention: "They say it's the Dragon Blood, that flows through the veins of every Septim. They see more than lesser men."

Did the Emperor really have this mystic power? Was he watching her from the afterlife with scorn, while she contemplated fleeing to another province? _Moons only knows_. Still, keeping this amulet could bring more assassins after her. If she delivered it to this Grandmaster Jauffre, maybe he might pay her off. This whole fiasco was not truly her concern. A dark elf thief raised on the streets of Elsweyr, with no money, equipment, or connections in Cyrodiil, would not be of any use to the Empire anyways.

A drawn-out shudder escaped the elf girl. She closed her eyes. _I need a bath._

"What is your name, by the way?" Baurus had asked her.

"It was something else at home. But you may call me Enura."

* * *

**Chapter Theme Song: The Chain, by Fleetwood Mac**

**Acknowledgments: Bethesda for the game Oblivion and the TES universe. The Ta'agra project for Khajiit phrases, words, and slang. The Unofficial Elder Scrolls Pages (UESP) and The Elder Scrolls (TSE) wikipedia pages for TES lore, geography, and history. Reddit for miscellanious TES fan knowledge.  
**


	2. Chapter 2 - One more bandit for the road

Chapter 2 – One more bandit for the road

Enura saw an island in the distance with an old Ayleid ruin sprawled atop it. Smoke rose into the sky, likely from a campfire. It was a dangerous gamble, and she would probably have to kill again. Depending on how many bandits there were. Without food and proper armor, she wouldn't make it far on the road.

Her eyes turned to the fresh, clear water sparkling in welcome. Donning her bow and securing her pack one last time, the elf waded into the water and dove. Little of the morning light penetrated the green underwater expanse, but there was enough to see by. Emerald kelp waved in motion with the strong current. Enura could feel her tattered leather armor flutter as she swam. Some of the rotten cloth of her breeches fell away. _June and Jode*,__ this water is freezing.  
_

The elf took a sharp breath when she broke the surface. Immersed in numbing cold, Enura felt her mind drift back to home and the past.

_Rishaj Zan was a formidable castle in Northern Elsweyr, a few day's march from Riverhold. Constructed in the middle of a breathtaking desert oasis, a reclusive Altmer wizard was said to horde great wealth there. The myriad of tunnels underneath the castle were carved in a previous age to confuse potential invaders. A nearby river was dammed in recent times to create a large reservoir. Murky water filled the tunnels and formed a moat for the castle's defenses. _

_Enura's task was to find a way through the underwater labyrinth and steal as much treasure as she could manage undetected. Once inside the castle, she would bag, weigh down, and throw loot out a window into the moat for retrieval later. The entire operation was to be attempted at night, with a legion of Alfiq and Senche-raht__*__ guards watching every corner and shadow. These guardians had the distinct advantage of seeing in the dark as well as in daylight, and hearing far better than any elf._

_Shadows and stealth alone would not be enough. Magic was the answer – and a grueling year of preparation in the dirty channels of the settlement called Dune. Multiple infections and near drownings later, Enura could swim and dive like a slaughterfish. Her father was pleased. None of the other Khajiit of their gang would swim for the heist. Dar'roda's daughter would do it in his name. For his glory._

The Dunmer reached the shores of the island after half an hour. The rising sun dazzled her eyes painfully. Grasping onto a large boulder jutting above the surface, the elf listened for any indication she'd been spotted. She heard coarse laughter, the scraping of metal, and a crackling fire. The elf eased her drenched body out of the water slowly, readying her bow. Keeping out of sight, she slunk towards a stone archway. Enura peered over a dense thicket, arrow at the ready.

"Ha ha ha, another one, another one!" a red-haired Bosmer guffawed. He clanged his tankard against a rotten crate serving as a table.

"Ah, it comes to me," an Argonian exclaimed, taking a long gulp of ale. "What do you call – a levitating Khajiit?"

"Hmmm hum," the Bosmer bandit grumbled. "I don't know. A distant relation?*"

"Haw haw," the Argonian tore into a grilled fish with his sharp teeth. He greedily consumed it.

After a while, the Bosmer chucked a potato, narrowly missing his companion's head: "Aren't you going to tell me?"

"A levitating Khajiit? Ah yes. It's – a flying carpet!"

"That's terrible Nurhei," the Bosmer made a face.

"Can you come up with something better?" the Argonian retorted.

"Better than what any swamp lizard like you'd think up," said the Bosmer snootily, downing his drink.

"I could gut you like a- Hgh!"

The Argonian groped at his right shoulder, an arrow protruding from it. Blood splattered across his mottled green face. By the time the Bosmer reached for his own bow, another arrow whistled into the Argonian's chest. The wounded bandit fell to the ground, groping for his warhammer. The Bosmer sent an arrow straight to where Enura had fired. She had moved already and came out from the other side of the archway.

"Dear Gods!" the Bosmer exclaimed, ducking out of the way of Enura's next volley. His dark eyes widened in terror at the sight of her.

Enura fired again, releasing the arrow with a deep exhale. It grazed the Bosmer's hand, disarming him.

"Ahh! Someone please, help me! Please! Y'ffre preserve me!"

Enura watched in stunned silence as the Bosmer ran away. In his hurry, his foot struck a stone block from the ruins. He got to his feet again screaming, limping desperately. For a few minutes, Enura watched the hopping Bosmer shrink into the horizon and disappear. Enura looked down and saw that the Argonian was dead. She also noticed that not only was her entire body covered in slime and kelp, but her cuirass was gone_._ She had gone into battle _completely topless_.

Enura searched the ruins warily for other bandits. Assured that none would surprise her, she scoured the camp. She took a large bite out of a roasted mutton leg and nearly choked. Her hunger could barely be contained after starving for so long. Ale slaked her thirst. Every herb of use within view was uprooted and stowed away: foxglove, motherwort, and to Enura's delight, bergamot flowers for tea. Chests were picked clean of gold and jewels. Barrels of food stuffs were emptied. The elf stripped the Argonian of his steel breastplate and clothes. The breeches had a hole for his tail and were of no use, but the rest was far better than what she had on.

Satisfied with her haul, the Dunmer wasted no time taking to the road winding away from the ruins. The island was in fact, not an island. It was a peninsula. She gave Baurus' map a look of disdain. _How accurate is this thing?_ Leaning in closer, Enura saw the names of various landmarks. The cities stood out, and the elf tried to read the names. The letters shifted dizzily side to side. _C-h-d-l- Damn._ _Ch-e-d-n. Shit._

Reading would have to wait. Even after a hearty meal, she could barely maintain momentum. Staying the night in the capital or at the ruin seemed like suicide. Where did that Bosmer go? Where were the assassins? Hadn't they followed her? Maybe Baurus had gotten the rest. Either way, she needed to crash somewhere fast.

* * *

_Rishaj Zan. Under the new moons of Masser and Secunda, when the Suthay are born__*__. With a necklace of water breathing and light, Enura made her way through the black underwater tunnels. She took a slate and dagger, carving her path inside the maze. The night would not last – she had to hurry._

_Enura took another route, and another. She lost track of time. She could not allow panic to take over. Father prepared her for this. How was it worse than spending the night sealed in a fish barrel? She could not fail him. She refused to die._

_The elf came across a tunnel that continued on with no forks or turns. She could feel her heart rise as the passage did. In the darkness, two orbs of light formed. Enura unsheathed her dagger, expecting a slaughterfish to attack. Instead, more tiny lights appeared. One swam before her eyes, and the glow from her necklace shone upon it. The orbs were in fact tiny jellyfish. _

_It didn't take long to understand why they were there. The pain inflicted by their stings made her scream, and water rushed down her throat. The agony was unbearable. Whatever control she had, it vanished in an instant. Her limbs numbed. She could barely swim. She was __nearing complete paralysis. Death.  
_

_Enura grasped with increasing weakness for the potions strapped to her chest. Cure poison. Cure poison. It took every ounce of effort to grip the vial, pull it out, bring it to her mouth… All while the agonizing stings persisted against her arms, legs, back, and face… She shut her lips around the vial, uncorked it with her tongue, and swallowed. _

On the top level of an abandoned watchtower, Enura awakened. By the dawn's light, she climbed down, stiff to the bone. Back on the ground, she noticed masses of blue and white trumpet flowers clinging to the tower. Vines intertwined and clusters of blooms drooped over the crumbling walls. _What species is this? How lovely._ Enura closed her hand around a bloom, feeling the dew drops run down her fingers.

"Your money or your life."

Enura turned her head to the side, and caught sight of the Khajiit. The Highwayman had his sword drawn; his tan fur and earrings glistening in the sun. The elf's heart clenched. _I really have to stop getting distracted by plants.  
_

"Pay up now!" The highwayman demanded.

"I have nothing to give," Enura faced him and gestured to her clothes. "Look at the state of me."

"Times are hard when a robber can't even make an honest living," the Khajiit bared his fangs in contempt. "Hm. Show me how empty that pack is, and maybe I'll be on my way."

"Please, you can't think I have anything!"

The highwayman came closer, pointing his sword at her neck. "Don't try my patience little elf."

"Ahziss atarr dorr dalaa*," pled Enura, kneeling down.

"What is this? Some sort of trick? Shut up and die!"

As Enura lifted the dagger from her boot and loosened the one up her sleeve, she heard a whiny. An imperial soldier on horseback thundered up the road. The highwayman turned and snarled, with his sword ready.

The Khajiit prepared to swing at the horse, but Enura stuck a dagger in the back of his leg. He howled and his sword faltered in the air. The imperial soldier took this opportunity to swipe the highwayman's head clean from his shoulders. Enura saw the Khajiit's empty eyes for a moment, as his head spun past her. It rolled for a little while downhill, before dropping into a ditch.

_Enura dripped on the cold stone unconscious. Light poured in from a tiny window above. Two Alfiq guards paced nearby. To someone outside of Elsweyr, they would seem no more than house cats in silk sashes. _

_"Where is J'fede? Did he not send for the steward?" said one, a grey female._

_ "He is coming, not to worry… Ugh, this cellar is too damp for Ambil." The other guard sneezed. He was orange and striped. _

_Quick footsteps upon a creaky stairwell, signaled the arrival of the steward._

_"Radiant moons, Zafir. What do you make of this?" The gray Alfiq sat on her haunches, tail swaying._

_"Eh? A thief! A thief made it into the cellar? Ha! Amazing! The master will be impressed!" _

_"What do you intend to _do_?" the striped Alfiq snorted impatiently. "Ambil does not like this musty place."_

_"We should dispose of the body," the gray Alfiq jabbed a paw into the Dunmer's shoulder. "It will start to smell."_

"_Sinar, always in such a hurry!" Zafir laughed. He bent over and examined the thief. "Eh? Rajhin's shadow*__! This one's alive. Maybe the master will use her in his tests? He could always do that. Let's put her in the menagerie. Ha!"_

* * *

**Theme Song:** **Standing On The Highway, Bob Dylan**

**Starred Words and Phrases:**

**1\. Referring to the two moons of Nirn, Masser and Secunda. They are very important to Khajiit religion, culture, physical appearance, and even their politics.**

**2\. Two of the many breeds or "furstocks" that the Khajiit have, which may be more than twenty. There are seventeen more commonly known ones. A Khajiit's breed is determined by the phases of both moons at birth. Alfiq are small quadrupeds, similar to house cats in appearance. Senche-raht is the largest quadruped breed. They are sometimes called "battlecats," and can use magic.**

**3\. Bosmer are distantly related to the Khajiit. In fact, the Ohmes (breed of Khajiit) closely resemble the Bosmer.**

**4\. Khajiit breed born under Masser and Secunda when they are both in the new moon phase. This means the night will be particularly dark and a good one for a heist.**

**5\. "I ask for mercy," in Ta'agra.**

**6\. Common exclamation of surprise in Ta'agra.**


	3. Chapter 3 - The needs of the Empire

Chapter 3 - The needs of the Empire

Enura continued west on the Red Ring Road towards Chorrol. Her imperial rescuer leisurely rode a short distance ahead. Any form of assurance in a strange land was welcome.

At least that's what she thought, until another bandit showed up. The patrolman crossed blades with the bandit, but then a brown bear lumbered out of the woods and mauled them both to death. The soldier's horse bolted. Enura did likewise, until further down the road two invisible creatures attacked her. Was this a typical day on the road in Cyrodiil? Probably.

_Invisible rats._ Her breeches were torn and bloody up to her knees. If she ever found the miserable mage responsible... She scrambled up a rise in the road in frustration, wondering if she'd get invisible plague boils and die an excruciating invisible death. The fate had an absurd, almost romantic appeal, didn't it? Enura started to eye the countryside for mandrake flowers with increasing unease.

Other than a having a Redguard swing a mace at her from behind a boulder, the trip to Chorrol was eerily peaceful. Enura noticed the flower and tree varieties change. She passed a quaint little cottage with a large acreage of vegetables. The wooden sign hammered into the ground said 'Odd Farm.' The place appeared abandoned. A bit further north, the elf stopped short at her final destination – Weynon Priory.

_Look at all the mushrooms!_ Enura gazed upon the bounty, popping up along the mossy stone walls and circling the priory's well. _Green stain cups, inky caps, clouded funnels! _The elf snatched the burlap sack out of her satchel. Stretching it wide, she started to throw everything good inside it for drying later.

"Ahem?"

Enura glanced up with narrowed eyes, supremely annoyed at the interruption. "Yes, what do you want?"

"What in Nirn are you doing?" A priest in a black robe with a reddish tonsure loomed over her.

"Collecting samples," was the elf's reply. She persisted in her harvest undaunted.

"This is the property of Order of Talos! You're going to have to leave!"

"Listen here," Enura prodded a large fly amanita in the priest's direction. "I don't see anybody else making use of 'em. I'm on a highly important foray for the mages guild."

"Get out!" the priest demanded.

"Hey! I've got business here!" Enura pulled the Amulet of Kings out of her satchel and dangled it in the priest's face.

"By the Nine!" the man cried. "Is that what I think it is?"

"Prior Marborel. Bring our visitor inside at once," came a cool voice from the Priory's front door.

"Quickly, this way," Prior Marborel grabbed the elf's arm and pulled her into the building. It didn't take too much effort, for Enura was small and slight. After slamming the door shut, the Prior retrieved a handkerchief and dabbed his sweating brow.

"I'll take it from here, Marborel."

Enura's red eyes shifted over to an older man with grey hair and plain, brown robes. There something about him, a dignified air that felt altogether unclerical. "Come with me," he motioned for her to climb the stairs.

The Amulet of Kings still in her grasp, she allowed the priest to guide her into a private study. The man seated himself at the sole desk in the room, and invited her to do the same. His fingers knitted together, in concentration and perhaps with some unease.

"I'm Brother Jauffre, and I must ask you this," His face turned hard and determined. "Who are you, and how did you come into the possession of the Amulet?"

"The Emperor gave it to me," Enura shifted uneasily in her shabby armor.

"Why would he give it to _you_?" the holy man's tone nettled the Dunmer.

"I suppose, I was one of two warm bodies around to do the job," returned the elf.

"Explain."

"He got murdered, the Emperor. _By assassins_," Enura added quickly, shrugging off the Breton's suspicious glare. "I was in the way of their escape and happened to follow. I just wanted get out of that jail cell. Well… everyone got killed in the end. Except that Baurus and me. The Emperor said a few things before he died, strange things. For one, to give this amulet to you."

"May I ask what other 'strange things' did the Emperor say?"

"He said something about a Destroying Prince wanting the amulet and how he shouldn't have it," Enura recalled. "That you know where his last son is and…"

"_Yes_?"

"He said it like this." Enura deepened her voice and clenched her fists, "CLOSE SHUT THE JAWS OF OBLIVIONNN!"

"Please!" Jauffre's composure momentarily snapped, pointing a shaking finger at the elf. "Can you not show some reverence for the honorable deceased?"

"Oh, sorry," Enura dug her toes sheepishly into the oaken floorboards. "I thought that was the most impressive thing he said. Wanted to get it right, you know?"

A prolonged sigh escaped the Breton. He rose and turned his back to the elf, observing the scene outside his window.

"As… as _unlikely_ as your story sounds. I believe you."

Enura's shoulders relaxed at the news, her arms hanging limp. _I'm going to be paid after all this! Maybe._

He moved back to face her at his desk, lifting a critical eyebrow. "Only the strange destiny of Uriel Septim could have brought _you_ to me carrying the Amulet of Kings." Enura could hear the 'somebody like you' in his statement, even if it wasn't spoken aloud.

"So, is that it? Can I go now?" Enura jerked a thumb towards the stairs. "And I wouldn't mind a fresh set of clothes and anything you can spare, before I go on my way."

"Wait! Did you not understand what the Emperor meant?"

"No. Should I?" the elf shrugged. She was no academic.

"The Emperor perceived some threat from the demonic world of Oblivion! The _Prince of Destruction_, Mehrunes Dagon, is one of the lords of that realm."

"Okay?"

"That means," Jauffre's voice strained for clarity. "That the magical barrier that protects the mortal world from the daedra of Oblivion may be compromised or in danger of disruption."

"Magical barriers?" Enura did not particularly trust magic, at least the kind they used back home. The Khajiit didn't have many mages to start with, and foreigners were the kind to use it the most.

"I'm not quite sure myself about them," Jauffre continued. "Only the Emperors truly understand the meaning behind the rituals of coronation. The Amulet is ancient. Saint Alessia herself received it from the gods. It is a holy relic of great power."

"Afraid you've lost me, sir," Enura rubbed her sore neck. "I'm not really up on the Empire's gods and history. Or rituals."

"I see." Jauffre seemed even more disenchanted than before, if that were possible. "Your accent is unusual for a Dunmer."

"Yes sir. I am not of Morrowind or Cyrodiil."

"Where in the continent do you hail from?" Jauffre demanded.

"Elsweyr, sir."

"By the nine, do you mean you were reared there?"

"Yessir."

The Breton searched the girl's features closely. With dark elves enslaving the Khajiit for many ages, how did she grow to maturity among them in their native land? Yet the rolling, almost hissing intonations were there – under the inadequately attempted Cyrodiilan accent. The effect was bizarre.

"Never mind that," Jauffre returned to focus on the issue at hand. In simple language, he explained the importance of the Amulet, the Dragonfires, and their probable link to the magical protection of Nirn.

"The Dragonfires… That is where the Emperor's son comes in," Jauffre paced by room's blazing fireplace, sorting through a myriad of thoughts. The elf had sat down again in her chair. The Breton had offered a drink of mead and the elf had accepted. Daylight outside faded to twilight.

"I am one of the few who knew of his existence. Many years ago, I served as captain of Uriel's bodyguards, the Blades."

"Like Baurus?" the elf chimed in.

"Yes. One night the Emperor called me into his private chambers. Uriel showed me a baby boy sleeping in a basket, and asked me to find a safe place for him. He never told be about the child, but I knew it was his son. The Emperor did ask about the boy's progress from time to time."

Enura felt a twinge of pity for the baby, who was now a man. She definitely knew what it was like to be separated from one's birth parents.

"Now, this illegitimate son seems to be the heir to the Septim Throne. If he yet lives."

"What is his name?" Enura asked, curious at her own curiosity.

"It is Martin. He serves Akatosh in the Chapel in the city of Kvatch, south of here… You must go to Kvatch and find him at once."

"Dark moons!" the elf cut in quickly, shooting up out of her seat. "I appreciate the story and your hospitality, but I did not sign up for anything like this. The amulet is delivered. There it is. And if it's all the same to you, I expect to be well rewarded. For the many close shaves with death it took to get it here!"

"What's this?" Jauffre could not believe his ill luck; the Emperor's messenger was an ignorant, insolent elf. "If the enemy is aware of Martin's existence, which is likely, he is in terrible danger! This plane of existence may be threatened!"

"Isn't there somebody else that can go check up on him?" Enura's hands braced on her hips. "Do I look like a savior to you? Where are those Blades people? Doesn't the Emperor have armies?"

"The closest servants of the Emperor were killed with him. My resources are limited, as only Baurus and I remain. There is no one else trustworthy enough or within reach to send to Martin's aid."

"I can't believe it!" the elf tugged on her bow's string anxiously. "My father always taught me to stay away from men like you and the Emperor. He used to say: 'If Darro knows anything, it is that honest work never pays.' You either get plenty of praise and no gold, or everybody's too thankful the trouble's over and don't care what in void's name you want. He said: "Daughter, watch out most for the ones that are going to save the world. Those people are crazy, and nothing kills you faster than a good cause.'"

"Your father was certainly… insightful," Jauffre finished politely.

"He may have done many a thing wrong, but what he said was nearly always right. When it weren't a lie."

Jauffre placed an unsteady hand on his forehead and took a deep breath.

"That doesn't mean I have to listen to everything he said," Enura smirked. "When he no longer walks the sands of this life. An elf has to make a living somehow, and I'll not refuse work offered. For the right price."

"So… will you seek out the heir in Kvatch?"

"If you get me a decent alembic. _Decent_ mind," Enura said. "I'll steal the pants off that Mehrunes Dragon for you."

Jauffre shook his head and placed his other hand on his aching brow. "Thankfully, I don't think that will be necessary."

* * *

**Theme Song: Just A Girl, by Gwen Stefani**


	4. Chapter 4 - It's a mad world wherever

Chapter 4 - It's a mad world wherever you go

Enura was still short – as much in gold as in stature. She wasn't outfitted well enough to a duel a mudcrab, let alone to safeguard the realm from evil. Once the elf cleaned out the master spy's supplies, she headed out of the Priory and up the road to Chorrol. This took her by the Priory's stables, where an elf chopped wood by a makeshift smithy.

"Hello," Enura greeted the man.

He was thin and pale for a Dunmer. "Ah, good day to you," he smiled, pausing in his work to catch his breath.

"Do you work for the priory?" Enura inquired.

"Oh, yes. I am Eronon, the shepherd here."

"Are you?" Enura eyed the row of horses with glossy coats, grazing on hay in their stalls. "Did you now that Brother Jauffre has given me an errand? On behalf of the Order?"

"He did indeed! I wish you good luck on your journey."

"Thank you," Enura smiled pleasantly. "You know, Jauffre said I should ask around here for assistance. For the mission."

"I see," the shepherd laid down his axe, and rummaged in his pockets. "I have just the thing!"

"I was thinking-" Enura began.

"There!" the shepherd offered her a repair hammer. She accepted it, looked at the hammer, then the horses, then the hammer again.

"That's all I can spare right now. Afraid I've got to get back to work. Nice speaking with you!" the old Dunmer rubbed his hands together enthusiastically, and returned to his chopping.

Enura gripped the hammer while staring silently at the shepherd. After a few minutes, she finally resisted the urge and stowed it away.

_It's going to be like this the whole way to Kvatch, isn't it?_

Later that day, Enura decided to join the Mages Guild in Chorrol. It was a convenient way to get basic alchemical equipment for free. And a visit to the Grey Mare afforded an opportunity to make some gold.

The Odiil family farm had a monster problem and wanted help clearing them out. Rallus Odiil was an angry, arrogant farm boy. His younger brother Antus was even more reckless. The combination resulted in utter disaster.

The family neglected to mention to Enura that they would be facing not just a few goblins, but an entire army. Halfway into the onslaught, the elf called for a retreat. She and the two brothers ended up on the farm's roof, which the goblins eventually set on fire. Antus fell when the roof collapsed, but thankfully he only broke both of his legs, his clavicle, and a few ribs. Enura shot down the rest of the goblins from a neighboring tree.

The answer is no. The elf was not paid. Honest work never pays.

* * *

A network of angry red cracks filled the midnight sky, and stars shone palely through the hideous crimson veil. Thunder crackled above, making the earth and very air tremble. The ruined skeleton of Kvatch lay in a smouldering haze, in the shadow of a towering circle of flame. The depths of the profane gate blurred and convulsed.

"What the in void is that thing?"

Savlian Matius, Captain of Kvatch's guard, tore his eyes away from the infernal vision. His armor had numerous claw marks, and the remnants of his cloak hung behind him in pieces. A headband soaked in dirt, blood, and sweat sat on his brow. He was less than pleased to see Enura.

"Stand back, civilian!" he barked. "This is no place for you. Get back to the encampment at once!"

The Dunmer gave him an impatient look. "I've come a long way in search of someone who lives around here. Maybe we can do each other a favor. What's the situation?"

"All we can do right now is hold our ground. If we can't hold this barricade, the encampment could be overrun!"

"What do you know about that – thing?"

"Some kind of portal to Oblivion. The enemy used them to attack the city – they appeared outside the walls and daedra poured out! And until the portal is closed at the city gates, we can't get inside. More of those beasts keep coming out of it. Damn them!"

"Do you know where a man called Martin is?"

"You mean the priest? Last I saw him, he was leading a group towards the Chapel of Akatosh. If he's lucky, he's trapped in there with the rest of them, and is safe for the moment. If he's not…"

_That is a good thing. It is also a very, very bad thing. Shit._

The elf could not believe she was forced to make such a ludicrous decision. Suicide by voluntary combustion was no more appealing than allowing the inevitable apocalypse to unfold. This whole Dagon business, end of Nirn stuff was really coming to pass. That strange Emperor did see the future. The bastard was right.

"This isn't exactly what I had in mind," Enura yelled over the thunder to the Captain. "When I came to Cyrodiil to see the sights!"

"What?" Matius replied in confusion.

"I'm going in there! I'm gonna close that ugly mouth shut!"

Arrow at the ready, hood drawn, the Dunmer crossed the barricade and headed for the gate. The brittle, blackened ground crunched under her boots. The stifling heat emitted from the portal made the air waver and dance like a nightmarish mirage.

_Jauffre owes me big time for this._

* * *

Dagon clearly wasn't the sort of god-fiend to disappoint his visitors – or more accurately, go out of his way to surprise them. Oblivion was a fiery, hostile, and excessively pointy realm. There were even two horned monsters rampaging at Enura the moment she stepped through the gate.

A man in chainmail with an axe flanked the beasts. Enura climbed onto a boulder and let her poisoned arrows fly. One struck a daedra in the eye, another in the back. The beasts were tough to kill, but bow and axe ultimately took care of them.

"Thank the Nine! I never thought I'd see another friendly face!" the man saluted her, before wincing and grabbing his shoulder. A gash there bled freely. "The others… taken… they were taken to the tower!"

The man was Ilend Vonius, one of the guardsmen sent in to investigate the portal. The entire party was killed except for him and somebody called Menien. Enura sent him back through the gate – he was in no state to fight. She proceeded alone into the burning landscape, greeted only by scamps and the remains of Matius' men. The elf stared at the pitiful charred figure half immersed in lava, his petrified fingertips aflame. Begging for help that never arrived. She moved on, with tears in her eyes.

The black, spiked gates leading to the tower were magically sealed. They had a blood red aura, like the lids of sleeping horrors. Enura felt the sweat pour like rivulets down her body. The vile fumes from the lava flows were suffocating. The sky no longer existed. Instead there was an angry wound of a mad god and the blinding flashes of an eternal tempest.

She followed a winding path that circled the tower complex, but never seemed to get closer to it. Progress was slow, but she found easy cover from roaming daedra behind crumbling pillars and stone walls. Enura started up a steep hill before having a fireball lobbed at her head.

"Hey, watch it!" She raised a fist at a scamp, perched high above on an overlooking cliff. The insufferable imp lobbed another at her. Enura aimed an arrow at the little monster. In that instant, she experienced a _shove_ from behind. Then something long and dark lashed out at her. She rolled to the side to dodge a fresh attack, clutching her face. Blood showered down her cuirass.

"What the fuck!" The elf got to her feet, spinning around to see her second attacker. "What the-"

A mass of hooked tentacles writhed out of the rock face where she knelt before. A new fireball struck her in the back, sparks setting her hair on fire. Then another Enura swerved around, her eyes ablaze with rage. After that, there wasn't anything left of the scamp. Or any harrada plants that crossed the elf's path.

Another hour passed, and Enura finally made it to the main tower's front door. Her left eye was now swollen shut, eliminating her depth perception. _That meant no more archery, for the present._ She strung her bow on her back, drew her daggers, and took in the view before slipping into the tower. _Oh, the ground burst into flame over there, isn't that nice? _

* * *

Blinding flashes of light and fire consumed Enura's vision. The great metal chains of the Sigillum Sanguis swung in the shockwave. The column of fire powering the Oblivion gate burst and rained fire upon monsters and elf alike. Enura's vision whited out, as she clutched the burning orb to her chest like a babe.

_Where do sinning elves go when they die anyways? Father never told me. The Dunmer make their ancestors come back to life – will I be a reanimated corpse? Or will the Lady of Decay take me to the Dark Behind the World? I hate slugs and spiders; I'd rather be a zombie. _Plop, plop, plop._ Is that rain? _

The elf opened her eyes, feeling the steady torrent soak her hair and clothes. She knelt in a puddle and held the sigil stone tightly, as if the world would disintegrate into insanity again if she did not. The remnants of the Oblivion gate eroded away and rocks splashed into the mud. _The mortal plane. The scorched gates of Kvatch. _

"You closed the gate! I knew you could do it!" Captain Matius approached cheerfully, arm outstretched to help her up.

"I AM NEVER GOING IN THERE AGAIN!" The elf screamed and hurled the sigil stone through a barricade, the guardsmen ducking out of the way just in time. The stone continued to roll downhill out of sight.

Matius was taken aback. "Listen here-"

"NO! YOU LISTEN! YOU THOUGHT I COULD DO IT? HUH?" Enura grabbed a accusing finger into the Captain chainmailed chest. She just as quickly shoved him aside, then kicked a stray helmet through the barricade again. The collected guardsmen decided to move out of range.

She paused, reining in her fury. "I'm done," Enura declared venomously to the Captain. She waved at Kvatch, the destroyed gate, and the guardsmen. "DONE."

* * *

**Theme Song: Up!, by Shania Twain**


	5. Chapter 5 - An unholy adventure, Part I

Chapter 5 - An unholy adventure, Part I

With some effort, the persistent Captain Matius convinced Enura to help retake Kvatch. The elf decided that facing whatever was in the city was far preferable to his insufferable guilt trips.

_What am I doing here? I don't play hero for free. When's the last time I stole something or pickpocketed somebody? I've forgotten how to be a proper criminal. _

Guardsmen rushed the city gates with a united battle cry, swords and axes held high. A scamp ran straight for Enura. She kicked it in the face, then struck it in the legs with her bow. A guardsman drove his sword into the scamp's back as it fell forward. Then a fireball hit the guardsman and he screamed in pain.

Enura scanned the courtyard for the mage. A robed daedra cast another fireball her way, but she dodged it with a side somersault. The elf climbed up onto the second floor of a burned building and fired a volley of arrows. The daedra fell, succumbing to poison, before the Captain could finish it off.

"_Lafana_!" the floor boards under Enura broke, throwing her into the ground face first.

"Ha ha!" the Captain cheered with his men. Jumping up and down, he ran over to the elf in time to witness her extract herself from the mud. Her face and entire front were covered in it. "We wiped the bastards out! It's safe to pull those people out of the chapel. Let's get in there and make sure they're all right!"

The elf spat out a chunk of grass in reply.

* * *

"Civilians, it's time to move out! Let's go!" shouted a guardsman.

Enura looked around the dark chapel as the refugees got organized. _Can't remember when I was ever in a holy place. _She moved towards the crowd, searching for the priests. She finally spotted the face among the weary civilians.

_He's the Emperor's son alright._ The priest's brown hair was long and untidy. He had a strong jaw and firmly set mouth, as if all the horror and death was an impossible weight upon him - as if he was responsible for the entire city, and perhaps the whole world. The exhaustion that hung about the priest's blue eyes did not wholly diminish a glimmer of keen intelligence and kindness. He wore a frayed teal robe and was terribly soot-stained like the others. Yet he stood out among them, like… Enura could not rightly explain it. A measure of calm and stability in the chaos? Hope, maybe.

The elf wiped the mud off her cuirass self-consciously. "Hello?"

The priest turned away from the now moving crowd to address her. "I heard how you helped the guard drive the daedra back. Well done."

"Thank you for thanking me. Um, I have some news for you."

"What is it?"

"The emperor… he told me to find you."

"The emperor is _dead_," the priest said with cross finality.

Enura felt her hair bristle again. _No shit. I saw it happen._

"Who are you?" the priest demanded. "What do you want with me?" His expression of suspicion intensified.

"I don't want _you_," Enura replied stiffly. "Jauffre does. You _are_ Martin right, the priest?"

"Yes. I'm a priest. Do you need a priest? I don't think I'll be much help to you," his voice became embittered. "I'm having trouble understanding the gods right now. If all this is part of a divine plan, I'm not sure I want to have anything to do with it."

Enura leered at Martin. "I've never in my life needed a priest. Nor do I want anything to do with no gods or bloody daedra. You don't get it. I was sent to fetch you is all. Jauffre, the Grandmaster, needs your help to-"

"If you came to me for help, you're more of a fool than you look. Look around. What good is a priest?"

Instead of losing her last nerve, she waited a long moment to respond. Her voice turned cold. "Fine. I'll go. You won't hear anything else from me. But just so you know, you've no idea what I've had to _do_ to even get here. What I've had to cut through. What has tried to _eat me_." She waved the fresh claw and teeth marks on her arms. "Your precious royal arse can burn in Oblivion. What a happy thought. The divine plan is unfair is it? Well why don't you cry in a corner?"

She turned and shoved through the chapel doors, back into the miserable rain. The elf had made it half way across the courtyard, when she heard somebody call out.

"Wait!"

The priest quickly crossed the distance between them, quickly getting soaked through. "Look, I'm sorry." Martin panted, bent over to catch his breath. He was probably as exhausted as she was, and hadn't slept once through the entire attack. Enura's ire dissipated. Neither of them was fit for a conversation of any importance.

"Speak," Enura huffed.

"Tell me why you are really here. Please."

"Let's get out of the rain."

The elf and priest moved over to a collapsed house that still had an arbor intact. They both dripped in silence for a moment.

Enura looked up at him, and said: "You are Uriel Septim's son."

The priest's eyes widened at the words. He shivered and shook his head, droplets flying.

"No. You must have the wrong man. I am a priest of Akatosh. My father was a farmer."

"This attack… the daedra came for you, priest."

The elf could see anguish rising in his face. The grim jaw set on edge. "An entire city, destroyed to get at me? Why? Because I'm the Emperor's son?"

"'Suppose you have every right to not believe it," Enura folded her arms against the chill. "But I don't have a reason to lie."

"I don't know," Martin pondered. "I think you might actually be telling the truth. What does this mean? What do you want from me?"

The change in the priest's face and the doubt in his voice, made the elf wonder. _Does he see what most cannot see, like his father? How else would he believe a Dunny like me?_

"Jauffre wants you. He's at Weynon Priory. We get there, I collect my reward and get lost. The rest is up to you. I'm not cut out for this soldiering business."

"But you destroyed the Oblivion Gate," he offered. "You gave the people hope. You helped them drive the daedra back. Yes, I'll come with you to the Priory, and hear what Jauffre has to say… Lead on."

* * *

The elf was much irritated by the priest's insistence she was part of the whole Blades scheme Jauffre was up to. That it was she who wanted something from him, like she was a common ruffian. _That's a fair assessment I suppose.  
_

Martin did not speak much during their march east to Skingrad. Maybe the elf's words before in Kvatch had given him a poor impression of her. _That is also fair._ The elf still would have preferred he walk beside her instead of from behind. Being followed, even by a non-hostile, made her uneasy. She imagined he was frowning through the back of her head whenever he got the chance.

Yet, the man was not stupid. Better to have a potential enemy where you can see them than to be stabbed in the back unawares.

"So… what does a priest of Akatosh _do_, anyways?" Enura said aloud, grabbing a fistful of bergamot flowers midstride and stuffing them in her pocket.

She heard Martin say behind her, "Pray to Akatosh."

_That's some cheek._ "Really? I thought that you looked after dragons in a secret. Must be useful, having a few dragons around. I wouldn't mind having one. Fly about in the air, go wherever you want. Fast too."

Martin remained silent. Enura ripped up a few flaxes and nightshade with one swipe, and crammed those into her other pocket.

"Think of the possibilities! You can turn anybody you don't like into a crisp. Your church should really think about something like… 'rent-a-dragon!' Buy one, get a whole set of baby dragons into the bargain to terrorize your peasants. The chantry would never have to tithe the poor ever again!"

The elf absently reached for a milk thistle, and bit her tongue when the barbs pierced her palm. "Dran khrassa!" She sucked the wound, glancing back to where- _Where in the Void is he now?_

Enura unslung her bow and nocked an arrow. The path behind her was devoid of life. "Hey priest!" she shouted. No answer. "Don't tell me, you're after another imp? Just leave the things alone!"

_He pissed off! Did he cut through the wilderness? What a sneak. I didn't even hear him go. _

The elf ran back the way they'd come. There wasn't a trace of the Emperor's last heir. She started to frantically tear at her hair. "Moons above, Jauffre's going to murder me in my sleep."

* * *

"Boy! Get the fire going."

"Why do I always has to do it?"

"Because I'll feed you to the draugr underground if you don't."

"Why can't Grog do it?"

"Shut up Breton scum. Grog cooks, I hunt, and you fucking light the fire and fucking clean up after!"

Enura peeked from behind an oak, taking in the scene. There was an unconscious Martin and tied to a chair. It was a bandit camp the elf had passed on the way to Kvatch. She had avoided the denizens before with stealth.

_One hideously scarred Nord. One Breton boy. Where's the other one? _

The elf suddenly heard footfalls behind her. Enura slowly turned to look. Nothing was there. Her hair stood on end, as her keen ears picked up breathing close by. Then something hard collided with her skull, she toppled over, and blacked out.

* * *

**Theme Song: Hello, by Martin Solveig ft. Dragonette**


	6. Chapter 6 - An unholy adventure, Part II

Violence and swearing warning. This chapter is SO LONG. I should put some of the story in the previous one. Oops. Worked hard on it though! Enjoy. :D

* * *

Chapter 6 - An unholy adventure, Part II

When Enura finally woke up, the sun was sinking below the hills. Ropes lashed her arms and body against a tree. The right side of her skull pulsed painfully. She strained to lift her head, looking around for Martin.

She was surprised to see him close by on her right, sitting at a low table with two open books and a dim lantern. He turned one page at a time with both hands tightly bound together. Enura's skin crawled then, as the priest was closely watched by a pair of pale, pitiless eyes.

The face was horribly ravaged. In fact, it would be difficult to tell if it was a face, if not for the matted blonde dreads and braids that hung from its head. The hulking man sat on a stool next to a large fire with a steaming cauldron hung above it. Another bandit, an Orc, stoked the fire and busied himself peeling potatoes. Every so often he took a swig from a hefty stone jug.

Enura quickly closed her eyes shut, hoping to still appear unconscious.

"You sure you can read those old runes, priest?" the Nord spoke with a rasp. "The boy can't, and he went to Winterhold."

"I was similarly instructed," she heard Martin say. "This reference text will assist with the translation. But it will take time."

"Neither of you've got any time. Look sharp knife-ear! I know you're listening."

Enura heard the crunch of footsteps drawing near. She opened her eyes cautiously, to the sight of a war axe at her throat.

"Your Ashborn companion lives. I thought Grog would have crushed something so tiny."

Enura could see Martin looking her way, and the fear in his eyes.

"Is she worth anything to you alive?" The axe's blade was cold on Enura's skin.

"Don't kill her," Martin insisted. "I will do whatever you ask."

"You've got nothing to bargain with," the scarred Nord raised the axe, in the position to strike her head off. "This will give you a reason to work faster."

"Hey!" Enura coughed, blood dribbling from her mouth. "I can read!"

"You can do what?" the Nord snorted.

"I'm an elf, aren't I? I can read the runes too!"

The Nord laughed. It was a throaty, unpleasant sound. "You're a liar."

"She can help," attested Martin. "She has explored many ruins in the province."

"Our own mage seems to know plenty about that," the Nord lowered his axe to the ground. "Grog!"

"What Skulvar?" the Orc by the fire stirred the cauldron. A mouth-watering smell wafted about the camp.

"Grog, how's that stew doing?"

"Meat not tender. One … two hours."

"You're going to ruin my venison!" The Nord brutally kicked Enura in the legs. "We've got a morsel of elf meat over here. Or Imperial if you're keen."

"Meat too tough," the orc said, stirring the cauldron.

"That… ain't… right," said Enura between gasps of pain.

"But elves make good pie. Tasty breakfast." Grog grinned wide at Enura, his fangs protruding in all directions. He then downed anew the contents from his jug.

"What… did you say?" Enura panted, struggling against her bindings. "I'd like to see you try!"

"Shut it puny Ashborn," Skulvar kicked her again. The elf stifled a yelp. "If your friend here doesn't come up with something soon, you'll be gutted by morning."

Enura could hear the orc smacking his lips tauntingly. Her blood boiled.

The snapping of sticks in the brush announced the return of the third bandit, the Breton in black robes. "Found the roots you wanted Grog."

"You're still on watch boy!" Skulvar barked, his eyes remaining fixed on both prisoners.

"Yeah. Right." The Breton tossed the tubers on the ground, and walked back into the dark wood with a sulky expression. Enura watched as the wild leeks rolled, and caught sight of a fairy ring of bright red mushrooms.

_But how?_ She looked over at the priest, head down and hunched over in concentration. _Readily anticipating sudden death. I've got to do _something_ for the poor man._

"Hey!" Enura blurted, regaining the Nord's cold stare. "Let me prove to you my usefulness! I know the ruins here. They're called Miscarcand, right?"

Skulvar raised a severed eyebrow, both halves separating. "That is easy enough to find on a map. You fool no one elf."

"Not on any of the common maps I've seen," Enura contested. "You have to ask certain people where it is or you wouldn't have a clue. Went to the Mage's Guild in Skingrad I did. Part of the Guild myself. Bet you didn't know that! Check my pack if you want. There's proof."

"Hah," Grog grunted. He rummaged in a chest by the campfire, swaying slightly as he did. "Nothing but trash! No food or gold."

"Give me that," Skulvar snatched the satchel from the Orc's hands. "And what did I say about that fucking moonshine, Grog!"

"Milk drinker," Grog grumbled under his breath.

Skulvar upturned the satchel. Vials and jars fell and smashed to pieces.

"_Jetwijijri! Mor kha'jay trajir jer_!" Enura writhed with fury against her bindings. "_Jekosiit! Khrassozay qojiit!_"

"Quit that!" This time the Nord slammed the haft of his axe into Enura's face. The elf saw one of her teeth fly into the darkness. "Think you can put a curse on me knife-ear?"

"Please, stop hurting her," Enura heard Martin demand. She saw Skulvar's uncontrollable rage turn from her to the priest.

"No!" the elf gurgled, blood rising in her mouth. She spat it out. "You're after something in Miscarcand right? Something worth lots of gold? You want it right away? There's no point me sitting here, when I can get you want you want!"

Skulvar paused to consider her offer. He gestured to Martin with a jagged finger. "You will read the runes. You will find out how to get the great stone. If you're a liar and cannot read, that will be very bad for you both. It will not be quick. Or clean. You have until the sun rises."

Skulvar, with a knife at her throat, loosened the ropes that bound Enura. He threw her down hard beside Martin, and roughly tied her feet, legs, arms, and wrists together.

Martin looked at the elf, his face pale. "Can I not heal her? She's lost a lot of blood."

"Not too much," Skulvar sneered, sitting back on his stool across from them. "The pain should remain fresh."

Martin gave the Nord his most indignant of frowns. He then attended to his patient. Enura's instinct was to jerk away from Martin's attempted incantation. She winced in pain from the reflex.

"It's alright," Martin said softly. He tried again, invoking the spell awkwardly with bound hands. Enura felt her face tingle as the spell worked upon it. The stinging of her skull and jaw waned, and bleeding in her mouth ceased.

"Thank youth," the elf lisped, swelling taking hold despite the healing.

Martin smiled warmly in reply, and Enura took strength from the encouragement.

"What haff we got hewre?" The elf stared down at a leather-bound journal. The bottoms of the pages were stained with fresh blood. Sticks and curves danced dizzily on the parchment, sharpening and fading. Despite the sickening vertigo, the elf drew her finger along left to right and forced herself to appear engrossed. She flipped a few pages and continued.

"This might be of use," Martin nudged the other volume on the desk towards her. Enura couldn't tell if the priest was concealing amusement, unease, or a mixture of the two.

"Thankth." The tome was much older, and the pages felt like vellum to the touch. Blocks of text in common tongue were mixed with more Ayleid runes. None of it made any sense to the elf, but that wasn't important. She would depend on her father's old tricks.

"Got anything yet knife-ear?"

"Ah, yeth!" the elf exclaimed. "Here ith somethink wery unwusul."

"Mighty fucking Talos," Skulvar spat. "Fix that mouth of hers priest."

"With pleasure."

Enura leered sideways at the priest. _That subtle irony is going to get you in not-so-subtle trouble later._

When the fixing was done, the elf continued. "This passage talks about a ritual."

"Well go on elf," Skulvar grunted skeptically.

"They… would pray to the great stone. The Ayleids. Clearly. To reach a new state of mind, the elves would consume herbs…The notes here say something about, 'growths of the earth the colour of blood?' Maybe it means red mushrooms or the like." Enura turned to Martin, winking with her right eye so Skulvar wouldn't see. Martin looked back with confusion.

"Don't you agree?" Enura pointed to the journal. "Whoever wrote this, was into this… tradition the Ayleids had. There's lots about it. At a big feast, they'd make a big pot of the herbs and mushrooms. The chosen elves would rise to the…"

Enura flipped a page, giving her a second to think some more. "… The place inside the great stone. Like a special magic-"

Suddenly Skulvar's axe slammed into the small table and split it almost in two. The books flew up in the air.

"What a load of mammoth shit!" the scarred Nord bellowed. "That's enough from you! Let the priest get back to work. Grog? Is that fucking stew ready yet?"

"Almost," the Orc grunted, listing side to side. He uncorked a bottle of wine, poured it into the cauldron, and took a long gulp for himself.

"I'm fucking hungry Grog!" the Nord, for the first time, turned his back on the prisoners.

Enura nudged Martin to get his attention, nodding her head in the direction of the far side of camp. The priest brow knitted together, then he peered into the forest. After some time, he looked back at her, nodding slowly. The elf pointed to him, brought her hands up and wiggled her fingers. She then tossed her head in the direction of the campfire.

Skulvar shoved Grog in the shoulder. "Why you got to be this way about the food? You're an Orc for fuck sake. You're not cooking for the fucking Emperor!"

Martin shook his head, lifted his bound hands sadly. Enura smirked, making a cutting motion with her fingers. She pressed her foot gently on the priests'. Staring down, Martin saw a large chunk of glass sticking out from the elf's boot. Martin kept a close eye on the arguing Orc and Nord, as he leaned low to take the shard in one of his hands. Martin nearly dropped it when he heard rustling outside the camp.

"What is all the yelling about?" The young Breton came from behind one of the two tents. "An Imperial guard could here you a mile down the road. What if one of them comes past here?"

"We'll kill him," Skulvar hissed, his reads swinging. "Like I'll kill you, if you keep slacking on watch."

"I haven't eaten since this morning," the Breton rubbed his shoulders. "And I'm freezing out there. Can't I sit by the fire, and you can cover me for a bit?"

"Some wizard you are," Skulvar growled, shoving the Breton to the ground. "Can't keep warm my arse! Grog'll bring your food when its fucking finally ready and not before!" He picked the Breton up by the collar and proceeded to push him back towards the road. "Get moving!"

Meanwhile, Martin had freed his hands. He reached out, and they began to glow purple. Enura balled her fist together, and beat her palm in a crushing motion. She then raised her fingers to her mouth again. Martin nodded.

By the fire, Grog's head began to droop even more. He did not appear to notice the five or six mushrooms zooming through the air towards him. Each one floated above the bubbling cauldron, crumpled into pieces, and dropped into the stew. The last resulting gurgle from the cauldron brought the Orc back to his senses. Martin quickly withdrew his hands and shoved them under the battered table. The priest and elf both looked at each other with relief.

Grog gave the cauldron another stir. He then removed the spoon and licked it greedily with a long black tongue. Enura's stomach churned with apprehension and disgust.

"What is it going to do?" Martin whispered to Enura.

"You'll see."

Skulvar had returned, snapping his coarse fingers. "Alright, get me a bowl of that."

Grog ladled out the stew with a peculiar sense of ceremony. Skulvar snatched his meal with impatience and scarfed it down. The Nord wiped his marred face. "Ah, that's the stuff Grog. Get me seconds."

Grog snorted but obeyed. He then doled out his own and dug in.

After their feasting, Skulvar belched heartily. "Go feed the brat, Grog." Grog grunted hard rising to his feet, stomping forward across the camp. The Orc was massive and the club holstered at his hip was probably a third the height of Enura.

Skulvar approached Martin and the elf. "The sun will be up in a few hours," he said. "Even if you disappoint me, I'll still enjoy skinning you like rabbits."

"Most of these notes don't even relate to the Stone," Martin returned coldly. "One passage does mention the King of Miscarcand but only his name."

"No excuses!" Skulvar spat. "I want to know what those guild mages were planning! They must have had some idea to defeat the King! Uhhhh…" The Nord began to shake, his pale eyes widening.

"Skulvar," Grog returned to the camp, walking in a zigzag. "Going to lie down... Don't feel…" Then the Orc collapsed and wretched.

"Uhhhh," Skulvar clutched his gut. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His scarred face contorted in pain. The Nord dropped his axe and fell on one knee.

Enura stood up, newly freed hands on her hips. "Did you run all the way from Skyrim? To get away from whatever tore your face off? Was it a troll?" She jumped over the table and shoved him down with her foot. "Or are _you_ the troll?"

"Fucking bitch," the Nord curled up on the ground and began to drool, foaming at the mouth.

"Enura," Martin said.

"What?" the elf snapped.

He put a hand on her shoulder. "We need to get out of here."

"Take the weapons and supplies. I'll deal with this."

"This is no time for revenge."

"They won't be following us. They're _dead men_." Enura snarled, pressing her boot into the Skulvar's gut. The Nord vomited and shivered.

"Enura!" Martin shouted.

The elf saw the lightning surge towards her but did not dodge it in time. The spell struck her in the shoulder, sending her reeling. Martin sent a few icicles at the Breton, but they were deflected. Enura grabbed her smoking wound and picked up Skulvar's axe. She threw the axe at the Breton and it lodged itself in the mage's shoulder. He cried out, stumbling back against a tree.

"Stand down!" Martin said with hands out.

"Kill him!" Enura scrambled for Grog's cooking knife.

The Breton's chest heaved in sharp bursts, blood spilling down his side. After a moment, Enura saw that he was actually laughing. There was a wild look in his eyes she did not like.

"Did you think I didn't sense you using magic?" the bandit snickered. "That I didn't see what you were up to? I'm not stupid like these worthless fools."

"We won't harm you," Martin said steadily. "We'll just leave."

The mage laughed harder. "You think you've got a chance against me? You're not going anywhere." He tore the axe from his shoulder, blood sprinkling the grass. The bandit's hands glowed white, and the gash knitted back together.

"This is convenient actually. Those two were maddeningly tiresome. Always pushing me around, like they were better than me… and not once realising what was really going on. I wanted them to kill everyone on the expedition, barring myself of course."

"What are you waiting for?" Enura shouted. But Martin was frozen in place, staring at the young mage. Enura poised for an attack.

"I'll need help down in the ruins you see. I've planned this for so long, and I've been practicing my craft. I need all the corpses I can get. And corpses don't talk back. They do as they're told! I want that stone."

Enura threw the knife. It landed where the Breton once stood. He had vanished. Martin suddenly turned towards the campfire. The blaze rose into the air, climbing and forming into an atronach. Martin engaged the flaming golem, exchanging ice spells with its fire balls.

The elf rolled out of the way and grabbed the unconscious Orc's club. The weapon was so heavy she had to lift and drag it. She turned around and this time ducked the Breton's lightning bolt. The mage grinned at her as he walked forward unhurried, casting again and again. Enura leaped out of the way of each strike. She could not see her bow anywhere.

The flame atronach scorched the ground as it weaved and pirouetted around Martin's attacks. It was backing up in her direction. The elf gripped the club again, spun in a tight circle and put everything she had left into the strike. Grog's club slammed into the atronach's back and it exploded.

The blast threw Enura out of the enclosure, into a dense brier. The thorny blackberries ensnared and scratched her arms and legs. The elf could hear the thunder of spellcasting from the camp. Enura desperately strained at the vines, crawling on hand and knee. Then she heard a scream.

Finally freeing herself from the thorny vines, Enura rushed forward into the clearing. Martin was there, standing over the Breton. The mage lay dead on the ground with a dagger in his heart. His eyes were open wide in shock.

"Hey!" Enura panted. "Are you okay?"

The elf could not read the priest's face. She imagined there could be many emotions there. Each not quite rising to the surface, flickering under the veil of a tired body, and diving back down into a repentant soul. Or it was an illusion she conjured up, and there was only a blank expression of a man desperate to push on for the sake of the empire.

"Do you see?" Martin gestured to the body of the dead mage. "How young he is?"

Enura nodded. The Breton was no more than eighteen, if that.

"Do you feel… that the older you get, the more the past hurries to meet you?" Martin said quietly.

"Sometimes, Martin."

* * *

**Theme Song: Who Will Save Your Soul, by Jewel**


	7. Chapter 7 - No daedric solicitation

Chapter 7 - No daedric solicitation, please

"You… know…" Enura shifted the satchel on her shoulder uneasily. "I've been meaning to say sorry. About your insulting your god and order, way back when. I'm a heathen you see. I don't know any better."

"Is that so?" Martin came out of one of his frequent sombre reveries, walking beside the elf in robes thick with dust from the road.

"Of course! It was awfully mean. After what happened to you and your home. Will you forgive me?"

"Don't worry," Martin said dryly. "It's part of my vocation to forgive."

The elf became suspicious. "So, you have to?"

"It's mandatory."

"Now you're just hurting my feelings."

"You did intend to hurt mine."

Enura barely stifled a laugh and instead put on a graver face. "We're coming up to the Priory soon."

"Sounds like you're not fond of the place."

"The man in charge isn't a big fan of me either," Enura folded her arms. "Maybe he'll like you better."

"In that I have no doubt," Martin replied.

"That isn't a very humble thing to say for a prie-"

The moment Enura caught sight of Eronon running towards them, she felt her insides tighten abruptly.

"Help! You must help! They're killing everyone at the Priory!" the shepherd cried.

"Who is it? Daedra?" Enura demanded, readying her bow. Martin unsheathed his dagger.

"Prior Maborel is dead! Travelers, they seemed ordinary. Then they suddenly had weapons and attacked!"

"Where's Jauffre?"

"I'm not sure. Praying in the chapel? Gods, they are coming!"

"Get out of here. Run to Chorrol!" Enura nocked an arrow and let it fly at an oncoming cultist in red and silver armor. The cultist deflected the arrow with his sword. Martin decided to skip the spells and lunged at the assailant with his dagger.

"Martin, get back!" the elf shouted, firing an arrow into the cultist's knee, making them stumble to the ground. "There's more coming!"

The emperor's last heir ignored her, finishing off the enemy with a slash to the neck.

Two more armored cultists rushed forward, with a Priory monk on their heels. Enura drew her daggers and threw one at the eye of the cultist closest to Martin. It only grazed his cheek. Meanwhile Martin was hacked in his sword arm. He impressively held onto his dagger, dodged backwards, swapped it to his left hand, and swiped at the cultist's gut. Enura sprinted in from behind and stabbed the cultist quickly in the femoral artery, and then in the ribs. The monk had dispatched the other. The cultists' armor dissolved into simple robes.

"We must help my brothers!" the monk motioned for them to follow at a run.

"Drink this!" Enura shoved a potion into Martin's hands. "You must be worshipping Sheggorath on the side! Going into a fight without any armor!"

"I don't need armor, I'm a mage!" He passed back the undrunk potion with as much force, making Enura stumble.

"Then use your damned magic! Keep out of range!"

"Not a chance," Martin clutched his dagger and pushed in front of her, entering the chapel behind the monk.

"Ooh, I should have left you tied up in West Weald," Enura muttered in pursuit.

"Your arrival is most fortunate!" Jauffre shouted, fending off two cultists at the same time.

The chapel was utter pandemonium. Pews were overturned and ablaze, and bodies of cultists and monks lay bloody on the stone floor. Martin hurried to aid the Grandmaster. Another cultist lunged towards Enura, pinning her against the wall and thrusting his blade at her head. The sword bounced off stone, as the elf shifted out of the way in time and kicked her foe in the groin. The cultist became unbalanced long enough for her to roll to the side and stab him in the kidney. She stuck the other one for good measure.

The Grandmaster and Martin made short work of the last cultists and lived. The other monk that aided them was not so lucky.

"Thank the gods you've returned," Jauffre wiped blood from his brow. "They attacked without warning... The Amulet of Kings! I fear it is the target. I keep it in a secret room, in Weynon House. We need to go see if it is safe!"

Enura raised her hand. "Let me go. I'll handle it."

"No. We'll go together. But I fear the worst."

Enura locked eyes with Martin, giving him a withering glare. He frowned back and turned to follow Jauffre outside.

Enura knocked over the last standing candelabra, unslinging her bow. She took an arrow and twirled it between her fingers. _Why am I taking this so seriously? The job's almost done. He can worry about his own neck from now on. _

* * *

"They've taken it! The Amulet of Kings is gone! The Enemy has defeated us at every turn!"

"You mean…" Enura's balled her fists up. "You lost it? Why in the Void didn't I keep it? How could I be that stupid? The Emperor entrusted it to me!" She shook her head angrily. "I go to fix one mess only to have another to clean up! Can't you Blades people do anything right?"

"How dare you!" Jauffre face screwed up, red with rage. "Many people have died today defending the Amulet!"

"And many will continue to die to get it back!" the elf shouted at him. "If that's even possible!"

"Please, there's no point in fighting among ourselves," Martin cut in between them. "Enura, you can't know for sure if keeping the amulet would have worked out." Martin addressed Jauffre. "We're alive, aren't we?"

Enura huffed, folding her arms. Begrudgingly, she said: "Martin's right… I suppose taking the amulet into Oblivion would've been a really dumb idea."

Jauffre gave the elf a searching glance. "And not all has gone against us, thank Talos. We've gained Uriel's heir."

Enura watched for Martin's reaction. It was as before, a mix of profound disbelief and uneasiness.

"We cannot stay here." Jauffre marched to his desk and started to rifle through the drawers. "We have driven them off, but they will be back once they learn of Martin's survival. Which they will." The Grandmaster retrieved a large map of the province and flattened on the desk.

"Where are you going to take him?" Enura asked.

"Nowhere is truly safe against the powers arrayed against us… But… Cloud Ruler Temple, I think. The hidden fortress of the Blades, in the mountains near Bruma." The Grandmaster straightened up, hand at the hilt of his blade. "A few men can hold it against an army. We should leave at once."

"Um," Enura's eyes shifted between the two men. "Can I talk with you alone for a moment, Jauffre?"

The Grandmaster grabbed a sack, stuffing it with papers and things from his desk. "I'm afraid there is no time Enura. Take some supplies for the journey as it suits you, and let us head for the stables. Quickly."

"But-"

"Get to it!"

"Hmmm," Enura grabbed fistfuls of short black hair in her hands and pulled them hard. On her way down through the Priory she absent-mindedly grabbed whatever useful object came in range. Apples, silver goblets, loaves of bread, expensive-looking books. And a large jug of ale.

She tipped the jug up above her lifted mouth and poured its entire contents. The ale splashed all over her. The elf then smashed the jug into the Priory door and let herself out, hair soaked through and dripping.

In the stables, the horses were still jittery from the fighting. They snorted and neighed, pacing within their stalls. There were four altogether: a roan, black, piebald, and a chestnut. Enura eyed the piebald before dunking her head in the stable's water trough. As she washed in the brisk, clear water, she heard the cautious steps of Martin.

"What's the matter?" she heard him say.

The elf bristled for a moment. Wiping her face with a spare handkerchief, she said smartly, "Nothing. Best you confide in the Grandmaster from now on. He gives the orders, and_ I just live to serve_."

"Really?"

"You heard right! I'm here to do as I'm told." _Like this horse_. The elf walked up to the piebald. The mare snorted, lifting its hooves to move back a few paces. She reached out a hand, patiently waiting for the horse to respond. It stared back at her with dark, gentle eyes. The elf took the initiative and went to stroke the mare's nose. It snorted again but didn't back away. She stroked the piebald's neck and glossy brown mane, taking the reins in one hand.

"I bet you want an apple, don't you dear? Aren't you a beautiful?" Enura offered the fruit in an open palm. The piebald sniffed it, gave it a nibble, and then took it into its mouth entirely. The elf was close enough to hear the mare's slow and steady heart beat.

"You're getting along quickly," she heard Martin say. "Wonders never cease."

Enura was about to stick out her tongue out at the priest, when she felt her satchel being shifted around at her hip. She was then pushed forward from behind. The piebald, and now the chestnut, were together nosing about for more apples.

"Hey!" Enura cried as the chestnut lifted its head to snort hotly in her hair. "Bunch of spoiled brats you are! Wait till it's offered to you!"

Enura looked to see Martin leaning against the enclosing fence, smiling. She could not help but smile back. Their journey so far had known little but trouble. The elf felt her, and perhaps his, apprehension melt away. It gladdened her to see him at ease, if only for a moment.

The stern approach of Jauffre made Enura look away fast and start to fuss with the piebald's saddle's straps.

"I see you've chosen Prior Marborel's horse. Might as well, he'll no longer… need it," Jauffre grasped the reins of the chestnut, stowing supplies in its saddle bag. "Martin, take Gaius, the black."

* * *

"Maybe you both keep an even pace back here, while I scout ahead for bears and trolls," Enura lightly pulled back the reins of Snowdrop and the horse whinnied.

"Is this really necessary?" Jauffre's chestnut, Brego, sidled up next to the elf.

"Better to protect the mounts. It's a long journey to Bruma. You don't want to walk all the way to the mountains, do you?" Enura patted Snowdrop's side. "It will also keep his most royal majesty out of trouble."

Martin's stallion come up on her left. "But the horses come first."

"Well that goes without saying," Enura flashed a grin, clicking her tongue and spurring Snowdrop up the road.

The elf kept up a uniform trot up and down the foothills of the Great Forest. Sometimes she could hear the sound of hooves in the distance, other times not. The moment she spotted a bear or wolf come too near the road, she fired arrows. This continued until dawn and into the Heartlands, before she came across something most curious.

The elf halted Snowdrop. The creature, less than half a meter tall, sat in the middle of the road. It breathed heavily, lifted its wounded paw, and whined in distress. Its large, watery eyes looked up at Enura.

"What in the Void?" the elf mouthed. She cautiously dismounted, dagger at hand.

"Are you some sort of guardian? Or something?" she crossed her arms, stooping and squinting a little to examine the creature at a safe distance. "Do I need to answer a riddle to pass?" The beast did not answer. Instead it continued to pant hard, its long tongue lolling about.

"Well, you're actually…" the elf cocked her head from side to side. "Kind of cute. In a way. Aren't you?"

Enura could hear the clatter of hooves from behind.

"How fares it?" Jauffre rode up to Snowdrop, Martin close behind. "We haven't had any- By the Gods, what is that?"

"This?" the elf shifted under the weight of the creature, now in her arms. "This is…" She took a second look, then a third. "Is… a dog?"

"A _dog_?" Jauffre pointed in disbelief. "It looks like it came out of an Oblivion itself!"

Martin leant forward in his saddle. "Or someone's magical experiment gone wrong."

"I can't believe how cruel you both are!" Enura mock offense. "The poor pup is hurt and abandoned. It needs love and attention!"

"Neither of which it got before, for obvious reasons," Jauffre replied coldly.

"Don't you dare laugh, Martin," Enura leered at the heir as he covered his mouth to cough. "If he?" The elf tilted the creature to one side to check. "It might be a he… Well. He cannot be of any harm to us. I will take him along."

"We have no time for this nonsense," Jauffre urged Brego past the elf in frustration. "Put the thing back where you found it!"

"No," Enura said in defiance. "I will not."

"Let her keep it, Jauffre," Martin trotted by, sighing. "If it hasn't tried to hurt her by now, there's probably no real danger."

"By the Nine… Hurry up then!"

Enura perched the hefty creature on Snowdrop's saddle, the horse strangely unperturbed by its presence. The elf clutched the beast, remarking at its dark purple fur, chubby physique, and numerous bat wings in odd places. It's dark, squished face peered up at her sweetly.

"Awww, are you a daedra little one? Are you going to gnaw my bones for supper?" Enura teased, gaining on the Grandmaster and heir until she rode by their side. "Are you going to eat me up? Cause I'll eat you up first! Yes, yes, I will!"

"The Gods have seen fit to test me in these dark times…" Jauffre began to pray.

Before three of them arrived at Bruma, they were waylaid on the road by a pair of women in filthy brown robes. To say they were unpleasant in attitude and appearance would be an understatement. They furiously demanded that Enura return the strange beast to them, as it was meant a gift: one that had unceremoniously run away from its owner. However, the elf refused to part with Kaaka, that seemed happy enough chewing on dried boar meat and Snowdrop's saddle.

The women, observing this, ultimately lost interest in taking back their mistress' property. It was indeed an unusual situation, where the best gift to them was one that nobody wanted at all.

* * *

**Theme Song: "You Don't Own Me" by Lesley Gore**


	8. Chapter 8 - Jauffre made the elf a Blade

Chapter 8 - Jauffre made the elf a Blade (and all she got was a stupid katana)

Six Blades assembled in two facing lines on the upper terrace of Cloud Ruler Temple, stiff as second era statues. Their stony faces betrayed nothing but a fierce determination to serve the Septim line. The gleaming steel armor with brass filigree and curved swords reminded Enura of the 27th of Last Seed. When she first got mixed up in the business of regicide, destiny, inferno, and horrible planning skills.

Martin, even more of an enigma than his absentee father, was now stuck in a similar but more frightening limbo. The elf watched him falter and stumble beside the supportive Grandmaster, supplicating himself to his new protectors. That was the problem. Martin was altogether too artless and too _good_.

This divinely appointed human was beating Enura at one of her best tricks: self-victimization. She was being outdone by someone who in comparison to her, had lived a life of luxury. Who was of royal blood, no less! After such a defeat, did she have any more get-out-of-responsibility-free cards left to play?

"I know all of you expect me to be Emperor. I'll… do my best… But this is all new to me." Martin continued.

_Welcome to the fucking club. _Enura snorted covertly, though she could have sworn the master spy gave her a dirty sidelong glance.

Martin wrung his hands together fretfully. "I'm not used to giving speeches but… I-I wanted you to appreciate your welcome here. I h-hope I prove myself worthy of your loyalty in the coming days. That's it. Thank you."

_Damn it. I'm not going to cry._ Enura could feel her heart beating in an unsteady rhythm. Her toes had gone numb too. The elf was borne helpless into a vortex of endearing stutters. The toes were likely a write off to below freezing temperatures.

"Well, then. Thank you, Martin," the Grandmaster sounded as touched by Martin's words as the elf was. _Or maybe the pride of the Empire is making his head expand._ "We'd all best get back to our duties, eh Captain?"

The Blades dispersed, moving back to their posts or making a break for the nearest fireplace. Enura strummed her bow string, ramming her foot into a loose stone brick to give her toes a fighting chance. That is when she saw the eyes of the reluctant heir rest on her. Enura thought this was the perfect time to disappear. _No more suicide missions. Goodbye, farewell, gadana, ahziss va kodesh._

"Wait…" the elf saw Martin swivel around, checking the grounds. "Hey, did you-"

"Yes, your highness?" a female Blade on guard duty offered.

"Wasn't Enura… the woman with the bow just standing here?"

"I'm am not certain, sire."

"How did… Enura. Enura?"

"What do you want, Martin?" The voice came from behind one of the pillars supporting the pavilion-like entrance to the temple.

"Am I that bad at giving speeches?" Martin went around the pillar, to find the elf leaning back nonchalantly and cleaning her nails with an arrowhead.

"Terrible," the Enura said. "Your army would flee before your attempts at a morale boost. Before the battle even started."

The face of the heir apparent fell, becoming dejected. Enura imagined Cloud Ruler Temple falling down in its entirety on top of her and crushing her bones to dust – and felt that it would not be punishment enough.

"Oh, come on, don't be that way!" Enura said cheerily, straightening up. "I was joking! I liked it. Honestly, I did. You worry too much."

"You think so?" Martin said, folding his arms against the cold winds. "I seem to have a great deal to be concerned about now. The Blades saluting me and hailing me as a Septim…"

Martin's knowing blue eyes searched the elf for signs of mockery. Enura smiled and strained to appear as innocuous as possible.

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful… I know I would be dead by now, if it weren't for you. Thank you."

Enura fidgeted with her sleeves, avoiding Martin's gaze. Compliments made her uncomfortable.

"It's… everyone expects me to suddenly know what to do. How to behave. They want an Emperor to tell them what to do. And I haven't the faintest idea."

"I haven't a clue either!" Enura threw her hands up with a laugh. "If it's any comfort, you're not alone in that. The Blades… have a habit of dropping things on your head. Out of nowhere. And here am I, trying to do the right thing, in I don't know how long, and sticking you of all people in a worse mess."

"If that is true, then you can at least help me out of it," Martin smiled, scratching a few days of stubble along his jaw.

"Go ahead and lay on the guilt. Hm… What about that Amulet thing?" Enura made a choking motion. "The wearable dragon horde."

"Of course. The Amulet of Kings. So, we… I… can take it to the Temple of the One and light the Dragonfires. And stop the Oblivion invasion."

"Save the necklace in distress. Kill the monsters. Then you get to wear half the wealth in Cyrodiil and sit on a pretty throne. _Emperor_." Enura made a silly bow.

"The Emperor…" Martin laughed. "That's an idea that will take some getting used to."

"As long as…" Enura hesitated. "You stay as you are, I don't think you'll have any problems. I mean – Oh, forget it! I'm going on about nothing. Hurry up inside Septim Emperor before you catch cold. I'll talk to Jauffre. Get some rest and hot drink in you."

"Don't forget to do the same, my friend."

As the elf watched Martin leave, she saw the Grandmaster approach.

"Let it be known, that you have proven yourself a loyal servant of the Empire," Jauffre intoned.

"Ugh, servant? Really?" Enura made a face.

"As _worthy_ as any of the Blades to stand by Martin's side during this crisis," he continued as if uninterrupted. "As the Grandmaster of the Blades, I would be honored to accept you into our order. Will you join us?"

"What?" Enura's jaw physically dropped. "_You_ want _me_ to join?"

"It must be an amazing prospect for you," Jauffre coughed irritably. "To protect the Empire, and… the future Emperor, of course."

The elf's eyes narrowed. _What is the old sneak up to? _"If I were to say yes, what would you have me do?"

"The Blades are sworn to the service of the Emperor, as I said. He is the mortal representative of the Dragon Blood of the divine Talos."

"Heh. It's funny Martin happened to worship dragons instead of his own ancestor."

Jauffre was less than amused by the observation.

"So," Enura began. "I don't have to join if I don't want to?"

"You can think on it if you wish," Jauffre said. "There is no rush for you to decide."

"That's the thing," Enura sighed. "Don't think I have a choice. I keep making excuses and whinging about a run of horrid luck. Well, the whole of bloody Nirn's surely screwed, unless somebody gives a damn. I'm not rich, or high-born, a great warrior, or learned. But… I'll do my bit."

"It is my honor," Jauffre untied the katana from his belt. "To welcome you into our ranks as a Knight Sister of the Blades."

"Oh, you don't have to give me a-"

"Take the sword, Knight Sister," Jauffre cut her off sternly.

The elf accepted the katana, balancing it in her hands. The scabbard was black and shiny as polished ebony, the golden hilt ornately designed and matching the details on a Blades' cuirass.

"Your first orders are as follows," the Grandmaster said. "The Amulet of Kings must be recovered. Go to the Imperial City to find Baurus. He may have found something about the Emperor's assassins. He will be in the Luther Broad's Boarding House, in the city's Elven Gardens district."

"I'll be on my way then," Enura shrugged, swinging the katana. "I find this highly ironic you know."

"Why?"

"Because I'm absolute garbage with a sword."

When Jauffre left in a storm cloud, the elf looked out to the snow-topped foothills in the direction of Bruma. She though about where her sweet, bizarre "dog" Kaaka had possibly gone. He had vanished upon their arrival to the temple, much to Jauffre's relief.

Enura also wondered how she felt about Martin calling her "friend." She decided she didn't mind it at all.

* * *

**Theme Song: "Anything Goes" by Cole Porter **


	9. Chapter 9 - Cyrodiil's Least Wanted

**Hello. Thanks everybody for reading this far. Please let me know what you think of the story: what you like and what you don't. Planning on getting into Enura, Martin and Baurus' backstories! Sometimes it's tough living under just one temple roof!**

* * *

Chapter 9 - Cyrodiil's Least Wanted

The Dunmer rode through the town of Weye on a piebald mare, its hooves rapping sharply on the cobblestones. She had the complexion of fading twilight and hair blacker than a starless, moonless night. An old fisherman tipped his cap as she passed, with a grin missing several teeth. The fiery eyes of the elf surveyed him.

_How many people have you sent to their deaths, old man? You stand by the road, bowed over and frail. Waiting for someone to feel pity. To wade into the Rumare… and not come out again._

Enura clucked affectionally to Snowdrop and moved on.

The Imperial City loomed in the distance. The first settlement the elf visited, after embarking from northern Elsweyr the previous year. Three days before the 30th of Frostfall: Uriel Septim VII's birthday. A raucous day of celebration, where wine and ale flowed along with dancing crowds and coin. When purses, pockets, and houses were ripe for the picking, and the city watch was too drunk to care for anything but wenches, song, and past glories.

Enura kept a steady pace. She had no reason to hurry back to that city of opportunity. A place where beggars and peasants lived considerably better compared to those that dwelt in the gutters of Elsweyr. It was an ancient, labyrinthine city. A city with the distinct rankness of old secrets and profane misdeeds, hidden under a heady intensity of dirt, sweat, and horse. Under the complicated balancing act between gilded fortune and poverty.

* * *

"Spare a coin would you, sir?" the silver haired beggarwoman hobbled about on bare feet. They were blackened with filth, and her linen dress was in no better state. "Me children will thank ye!"

"I'll make good of this, kind lady. I put it toward me health." Simplicia the Slow gleaned what she could from the crowds of the Market Square. Food, thimbles, brass, lantern oil, string, and looks of pity. The latter had some value, in theory. A miser's grip could always loosen at little more by the next day.

The beggarwoman decided to finish her evening in her usual spot: a small shrub garden with a stone well, lodged behind A Fighting Chance and The Merchants Inn.

"Stendarr be blessed!" rasped Simplicia, sorting through the evening's haul in a fine cotton handkerchief.

"_To the Lady Nocturnal_!" came an echoing cheer from the well.

"My word!" Simplicia the Slow held her hard earned trappings to her chest in fright. "My word, what 'ave you? A ghost from the sewer, to stop a poor woman's heart!"

"Come off it," a shadow crawled out of the pit, merging with the lengthening shade of a tall cedar shrubbery. "Must you go on playing your tricks, even with me?"

"Aye, so it was you skulking before by the ol' Bag," the beggarwoman's voice changed, the high-pitched shrillness gone in an instant.

"Your eyes are sharp as ever," the shadow crouched down, rummaging through her satchel. "How would you like a freshly baked tater with gravy, m'dear? With a dram of brandy?"

"You be wanting something, no doubt," Simplicia rubbed her frail, veined hands together. Her voice became shrill and affected once again. "Oh, what a treat! More than a dram, more than that, girl! To slake my thirst… Why, and to think every thief and beggar once cursed your name! After the Headman's axe missed your neck on your day of reckonin!"

"Do go on," the shadow poured more brandy in the tin cup Simplicia now held.

The beggarwoman cast a suspicious glance at the shadow. She continued to slurp the aromatic beverage. Her tone turned steely. "Ah, trying to pry information out of an old woman with drink. It is not becoming or clever, Bishu'mor of Elsweyr! No, you must offer me something better. I don't contemplate risking my neck for nothing."

The shadow tried not to betray her emotions, when hearing the sound of her old name. And home. It felt like such a long time ago.

"I can give you many things. Gold. Liquor. Food…"

"Don't think me senile yet!" the beggarwoman cackled, thrusting the empty cup forward for more brandy. "Queen of the Market District, I am. Pay your dues."

"Potions, for all your ills. Is the Helljoint still bothering you?"

"All my joints bother me day and night, sweet child. You must be scared. You should be. What will the Guild think? Nevermind that Hieronymus fellow."

"The Empire has seen fit to spare my neck," the shadow said. "So, Lex can kiss my bony elven ass. Armand, though? Fathis? The… Gray Fox? I know you, Queen of the Market District. Word travels fast here and there's little you miss of it."

"Oh, interesting. The brass is on your side now? That's only going to count against you. Better hand over that medicine, while there's time."

"Time?"

"They already know you're here, dearie."

The shadow leapt towards the well. Three arrows were sticking out of ground where she she'd sat a moment before. The rusted metal hatch slammed painfully against her back as she lunged feet first into the abyss.

* * *

The tavern was musty and dimly lit by the scarce glow of candles. The barkeep had his back turned to the front door, displaying a gigantic, well-honed battle axe strapped to it. The bald, middle aged man idly polished delicate glasses and mugs with hands better suited to crushing skulls. An ashen haired Breton of similar age but less daunting size flipped through a book in the room's far corner. The last man was a Redguard, who nursed a drink at the bar. It was Baurus.

Enura slunk across the room soundlessly and sat on the stool next to her fellow Blade. The solemn barkeep did not seem to notice the elf's attendance or didn't deign to acknowledge it. He polished on.

"Baurus, what's up?" Enura swung her legs impatiently, staring at the cobwebbed, water-stained ceiling.

"Listen," the Redguard said without taking his eyes from his ale. "I'm going to get up in a minute and walk out of here. That guy in the corner behind me will follow me. You follow him."

"Dark moons," the elf swore. "If somebody tailed _me_ like they did you, we'll be in for a fucking bar brawl. But… suit yourself."

"Right… Remember, wait for him to follow me. I want to see what he'll do."

_A hundred septims says the fellow's gonna offer his hand in marriage. _The elf rubbed her itchy, sleep deprived eyes. For her, every moment for the last two days was a constant vigil for guards, angry guild members, cutthroat opportunists, and perhaps even the Dark Brotherhood. But who was she kidding: her hide couldn't be worth _that_ much.

Enura's ears perked up at the sound of the cellar door opening and shutting left of the bar. Then she heard a second set of footsteps, and the door creaking once again.

_Two hundred septims says there's a surprise engagement party down there._

There actually was a thrilling celebration in the cellar with cheese and wine. Baurus and her were on the decorating team. It resulted in a terrible paint job.

"Search his body. I'll keep an eye out, in case any of his friends are nearby. Or yours, I take it?" Baurus tsked in mock disapproval.

"Don't judge me," Enura stuck her tongue out. She knelt and rifled through the pockets of the Breton assassin. "Don't forget, you owe me for delivery service! Hmm… Nice bit of gold here. Was he paid off? Nothing much except… this ugly book. I think this guy was reading it before. Upstairs."

"Oh, that's a find," Baurus reached out for the tome, hefting it in his hand. "Good work. I am glad to see you, by the way. You just caught me at a bad time." The Blade flashed her a bright, toothy smile.

"Awww," Enura clasped her hands together. "That's nicest thing anybody's said to me for a long, long time. I could hug you, if it were my style. It makes me think you're probably related to Martin."

"To who?"

"He's the last heir of the Emperor. He's alive, with Jauffre at Cloud Ruler Temple."

"Thank Talos he lives!" Baurus face expressed inestimable relief and joy. "Martin Septim, you say… We will restore him to the throne! It is the sworn duty of all the Blades!"

Enura snorted. "Yeah, he's excited to take up the mantle. Really chomping at the bit to rule the world. Ah, but that's unkind." The elf mused at that, and the Redguard cleared his throat to regain her attention.

"Funny old Nirn, isn't it?" the elf said. "Well, you'll understand when you meet him. Course, when life gives you one thing, it takes another. Meaning… the Amulet of Kings was taken by the Enemy."

"That's bad," Baurus scowled. "And the assassins who killed the Emperor are part of a daedric cult called the Mythic Dawn. They worship the Daedra Lord Mehrunes Dagon. I've been tracking their agents in the Imperial City. They've been working secretly under the Empire's nose here. Besides my own."

"They noticed," Enura nudged the assassin's corpse. "It sounds like you have more work for me. Please, just tell me it's not about the book."

"It's about the book."

"Dammit, Baurus. I don't like creepy grimoire things."

"It's not so bad. All you need to take it to the Arcane University and see Tar-Meena. She's an expert on daedric cults."

"Ugh. Watch yourself out there Baurus," Enura repositioned the bow on her back. "These Dawn cultists are mad. There are also those that might try to get information out of you… Or use you as bait. To get at a certain someone."

"It's pleases me to show you care," the Redguard grinned.

"You're getting mushy again. Stop it."

* * *

"You're not easy to get a hold of," Baurus whispered.

Enura had just snuck through the doors dividing the Elven Garden and Temple districts, behind a group of late-night revelers. She had nearly dived headfirst into the lotus covered aqueducts for cover.

"_Fumbadhassa_!" she hissed, slipping a dagger back up her sleeve.

"Sorry to startle you like that, but we've got work to do." The Blade stood to the side of the doors, in his plain green vest and roughly worn leather pants. He did not appear amused.

"I got the damned books. Three of them anyways. Had to…" She made heaving sounds. "… flirt with a bookseller and threaten a daedra-crazed Bosmer."

"You've also been settling old scores."

The elf did not meet the Redguard's searching gaze. "I don't know what you mean."

"Ah, so you haven't noticed the entire city watch has mobilized?"

"Heh, heh, we should probably talk over here…" Enura tugged on Baurus' sleeves, as a half dozen watchmen briskly marched by with an Argonian in chains.

The Blade rolled his eyes and sighed: "Follow me."

The night wind was cool upon Enura's face, as the two of them weaved around the back alleys of the Elven Gardens. One spot was sheltered by trees and the outcroppings of the city walls. Baurus turned to her, sitting on a large boulder with hands knitted together. "Did you have to paint those things about Hieronymus Lex on those Imperial watchtowers? Or remove all the clothing, armor, and weapons from his personal quarters?"

"That could've been anyone," Enura dug her foot into the mossy, damp ground.

"Or lobbed cheese wheels at sentries?"

"Somebody did that? How could they get away wit-"

"Or replaced the guard's ale and wine stores with bilge water."

"You have no idea how long that – I mean, this is kind of off topic isn't it?"

"Hieronymus Lex is scouring the entire city for the culprit. This doesn't make our job any easier Enura. The Mythic Dawn might decide to lay lower than they are already."

"You're starting to sound like Jauffre."

"He warned me about you." Enura was thoroughly surprised to see the Blade grinning at her again. "It would be better if you took your revenge on the cultists instead of the defenders of the realm. You know, people like us?"

"Okay. I have my reasons you know. It's not just about fun."

"Now that the fun's over with, let's get to business," Baurus' tone became serious again. "You have three books. What about the fourth?"

"Look at this." Enura gave Baurus the wood elf's note about meeting the Mythic Dawn.

"This might be the break we've been looking for! Good work. Once we have all four books, we can use them to find Mehrunes Dagon's shrine. Let's go. I know that part of the sewers well…It's a few blocks from here."

"Baurus, don't think I'm that mean," Enura sniffed. "I wasn't throwing the cheese wheels at guards. I wanted to see how far they would roll down the street from a certain height, and if the type of cheese had any effect."

"Right."

"Most of them smashed into pieces, but there was one very old cheddar that did manage to make about a good hundred meters."

* * *

"Why is it always a sewer," Enura grumbled, skewering a mud crab with an arrow. It flew across the room like a flying kebab. Before she had stepped into an unidentifiable corpse, and desperately wanted to forget the experience. "Blades, assassins, daedra worshippers, necromancers."

"They run underneath the whole city, with access points in every district," Baurus explained, dispatching another mud crab. "We Blades have occasion to use them to do our undercover work, and to move around without attention."

"I prefer sneaking topside," Enura said with a particular edge in her voice. "More of a challenge and A LOT MORE SANITARY." After living in filth for a good chunk of her life, she did not like returning to it. The elf had chose cleanliness, and by June and Jode, she would stick with it.

"Don't worry. We're nearly there," Baurus said, sloshing through the knee-deep disgusting water. "Ah, here it is."

"Alright. The room with the table is just through the door. I think I'd better be the one to handle the meeting. You'll be my backup. Go up the stairs and get a vantage point from above. Keep watch in case of trouble."

"Is case of trouble?" Enura repeated. "Don't be silly. There's going to be trouble, alright! You're the swordsman. You can head them off. Here. Drink this up. It will protect and heal you." Enura rifled through her satchel. "This will be handy for fatigue, and if they have a mage…"

Baurus waved his hands for her to cease and desist. "That's enough. Do you want me going in there drunk?"

"The side effects are _minimal_," Enura said testily. "Do you want to die? Because you better not."

"Enura, if I do," Baurus addressed her soberly. "You need to survive. Recover the book and the Amulet."

"You're not going to die," Enura unslung her bow. "Because I don't want to do this alone."

* * *

"You bitch, Methredhel!" Enura screamed, firing another shot at her swift, agile target. She turned to Baurus: "Hey! Get out of here. This isn't your fight!"

"Are you sure?" Baurus grunted, parrying the thrusts of a sword- and axe-wielding Dunmer of no small skill. The mer's face was grey, sharp, and vicious – as was Methredhel's and the other two thugs that had interrupted the cult meeting. The three cultists' corpses were piled up on the slimy cold floor. They had been slain just as readily by both sides.

"Save yourself!" Enura cut down an assailant weakened by one of her poisoned arrows, narrowly avoiding an axe to the chest. Methredhel sprinted towards her with a short sword. Enura cartwheeled out of the

"I will not leave you to die!" Baurus shouted, and thrusted his sword straight through his foe. The blade stuck out of the dying Dunmer's back and blood spewed from his mouth. Enura saw that he was becoming weary.

Luckily, only Methredhel and one of her cronies remained. Baurus and Enura headed them off: the elf women engaged in a fast-paced knife fight while Baurus contended with a tall, brawny Imperial wielding a halberd.

The thug slashed at Baurus' legs and the Blade jumped back with every strike. Each time Baurus felt jolting pain dart up from his twisted ankle. His eyes darted to Enura, who had taken quite a few hits herself. Copious amounts of blood seeped from a wide laceration along her collarbone, and she clutched her side, wincing.

Baurus kicked a rotten barrel over to block an incoming attack from the Imperial. A nest of rats was underneath, fleeing and chittering in all directions. The Imperial shrieked at the explosion of rodents. Baurus bared his teeth, swung and severed the distracted thug's halberd in two. The Blade made a rapid turn, his katana slicing the thug from shoulder to neck. The Imperial slammed to the ground with a heavy thud, gasping for air.

Baurus searched for the dueling elves in the gloom. They were scrapping on the stairwell. Enura had the high ground, but Methredhel struck with twin daggers at lightning speed. Methredhel pushed her opponent up the stairs, Enura feebly deflecting blows in defense and nothing more. Baurus rushed to the stairwell as fast as he could, while guzzling a healing and fatigue potion. The aura of warm settled in his stomach and the pain in his ankle eased.

Methredhel could hear his approach however, and jumped off the stairs in time to avoid Baurus' strike. She leered at them with large, black eyes. "Don't think this is over," she spoke almost in a whisper. Before either Blade could breathe, the Bosmer vanished into the shadows.

Enura stumbled and muttered, clutching her ribs: "Coward… bitch…"

Baurus offered his shoulder for her to lean on. "I have to learn how you guys disappear like that."

"Ungh. It takes… years of practice… My ribs are broken."

"Got a potion for that?"

"Yeah. Thank you… for saving my life… Baurus."

"I owed you one. For delivery service, remember?"

* * *

**Theme Song: "FU" by Miley Cyrus**


	10. Chapter 10 - Literary Criticism

Chapter 10 – Literary Criticism

The main hall was dusty and dark, except for the flickering flames of twisted candelabras and the crackling fire. Gleaming katanas hung from the shadowy rafters like fangs of a beast. Ancient, intricate tapestries torn and faded with time billowed in the chill draft that penetrated the stone walls.

A dark silhouette lengthened across the floor and merged with the shadow of an open door. The form skirted around the next room. The place brimmed with shelves and furniture, books, scrolls, quills, runes, and various scholarly paraphernalia. Spiders weaved their webs in damp corners. Tiny mice skittered around in search of crumbs. They poked their noses under tables covered with silver goblets and platters. The trays were laden with bread, cheese, fruit, and cured meat. The air was icier here, untouched by the warmth shed by a sea of candles. One could almost forget it was pitch black outside.

A few of the Blades attended to their vittles and wine in relative silence, murmuring a few words here and there about their day. Martin Septim quietly pored over a large velum map of Cyrodiil. His dark wavy hair fell often between him and his subject of study. He impatiently tucked it or blew it out of the way each time. Still dressed in simple, blue robes, he passed between one text to another in absolute concentration. He was therefore startled when one of the dining Blades stood up and addressed him.

"My Lord, I would speak with you."

"Please, Achille, say what you will. But let us do away with these absurd formalities. I am no "Lord" yet. I would remain Martin for a while."

"Of course, Sire."

The screaming issuing from Martin's brain was just audible at close range. Except to the Blades, which seemed immune to it.

The young, tow-headed Blade straightened under royal bastard scrutiny. He said in a reassuring voice: "I wanted to let you know you're safe here, sir."

A shadow behind one of the bookcases snorted.

"Cloud Ruler is secure, and the Blades stand at attention."

Martin rubbed his neck self-consciously. "No matter what happens, you must know… You must _all know_," he said, raising his voice as if to include anyone in earshot. "That I am eternally grateful for the service you Blades have provided."

The enthusiastic Blade perked up: "We are most grateful to be given the honor of providing these services, to you. Just know that whatever you need, we will give it gladly. Our hearts, our blades, our bodi- I mean… our lives if need be. Long live the Septim bloodline!"

"Er… yes, thank you. Um… I'm sure the Blades will stand true for the Empire in these dark times, as they always have…"

"Thank you for speaking to me, Sire!" Achille bowed giddily. "I know you're very busy. Until next time, most honorable Lord."

More muffled psychological screaming ensued. "I said it's…" Martin sighed, with shoulders scrunched together. "It's been a pleasure."

Snickering came from the other side of the room. Enura was piling scattered books up in columns, to see how high they could get without toppling. If the elf had enough books and time, she could recreate the Green Emperor Way columns and White-Gold Tower.

"You finally decided to show yourself," Martin turned, smirking. He moved towards the elf's growing bibliographic monument. Achille's face fell pitifully as he lost the Septim limelight.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Enura brushed dust off her shoulders that flew off the books.

"Glad to see you have returned, and so soon. Baurus was certain you would be away for at least another fortnight. If not a month."

The elf crossed her arms, crimson eyes aflame. "Did my favorite knight brother say that? Where is he? I'm going to hide him."

"Talking with Jauffre no doubt," Martin shrugged. "They've discussed much as of late. With or without me in the room."

She heard the angst in his voice. Instead of vainly reassuring him not to worry, she lifted a hefty tome with bended knees and positioned it for the base of a new column. Martin's brows furrowed. _Dark moons. _Enura had hoped to tease the grumpy Septim by elfhandling what he considered most sacred, but instead was ushering forth his scholarly rage.

"Don't you have any respect for books?" he said curtly.

"No."

That was definitely the wrong answer.

"No? Hm. That's unfortunate, because you're going to put them all back where they belong." Martin gestured to the disarray surrounding them.

"You can't be serious. There's as much order here as a skooma den in the middle of an Imperial raid."

"Then put them here on these tables, until I can remedy your foolishness," Martin demanded. "And clean the dirt off the ones on the floor."

Enura crumbled under his glare and despaired. It was scarier than the time she hunted Durzogs in the dark back home for a bet.

After a moment, the elf pulled herself together. She bowed low in mockery and said: "As my Emperor commands. I can see you are quite taken with the role already."

That stung. The elf sort of felt guilty when Martin's anger transitioned to gloomy awkwardness again. Enura spun around and got to work, organizing and dusting at a fast pace. She handled everything with exaggerated care at the same time, treating the tomes as if they were made of fine glass and porcelain that would shatter at the slightest touch.

After getting treated like a palace servant by the Lord of Humility, Enura was fuming. That explained why she failed to notice that Martin was helping her and carefully refilling the bookcases. The elf experienced a mixture of admiration and unease. Mostly because she had stopped being angry at him long before realizing it.

"I apologize," she heard Martin mumble at her, as the she returned from emptying the dustpan outside.

"Eh. Martin, I'm sorry." Enura shifted uncomfortably in her leather armor, when she saw his sad eyes. Then his hair fell in front of them again, as if scheduled by the clock. _June and Jode, _doesn't that annoy him?

"Martin, why don't you tie your hair up to keep it out of your face?" Enura was glad to change the subject fast.

"Hm? What? I… I do it to look properly rugged and mysterious."

Enura couldn't stop the smile in time. "Grandmaster never told me you were a funny priest."

"Jauffre would not know. I am so solely for your benefit."

The elf felt her internal organs lurch forward simultaneously, like she was just thrown from a carriage ride on the inside.

"I've got to go," Enura jerked a shaking thumb to the door. "Baurus told you I found the cultist shrine, right? I sent a letter express…"

The elf remembered that escapade vividly.

_"__Baurrruuuuuuussss," Enura clasped her hands together._

_"__I was ordered to return-"_

_"__Pleaseeeee," the elf gave him her best pleading look, complete with wide, tearful eyes and a trembling lower lip. It took many years to perfect, and was usually enough to evoke pity in the coldest heart. Alas, it was to no avail. _

_Baurus shook his head. "Jauffre needs my reports. In person."_

_"__Come on!" Enura blurted. "Just the first one. It can't take that long!"_

_"__Wow, can you not see how thick these things are?" the Redguard waved one of the Commentaries in front of her to make his point. They were sitting in Luther Broad's Boarding House again. Multiple copies of the books were stacked on the rickety table in front of them. A table extensively vandalized, with phrases carved into it like: Summon Sanguine for a goodly revel. Another one said: I came hither to whoreth and pilfer souls, now I be in want of strumpets. _

_Enura would find them amusing – if only she could read the common tongue. Or any language. Or more importantly, evil cult books. She was essentially begging Baurus to read aloud daedric indoctrination to her like a bedtime story. _

_"__I've got better things to do with my time." Baurus pushed away from the table to get up. "Ask Tar-Meena. She's the expert."_

_"__Tar-Meena said she's too busy too!" The elf cracked open one of the books and gazed at the blurred, dancing images hopelessly. "She then has the gall to just give me useless hints… but I bet she knows the answer already. Oh yes, let one of the unwashed masses feel shame for their ignorance!" _

_Baurus sighed in annoyance, picking up the first volume tentatively. "Maybe I could skim through some of it…"_

_Enura beamed and felt relief wash over her. "Thank you, thank you! I will do whatever it takes to make it up to you, Baurus! I owe you one! You're my favorite, bestest knight brother-"_

_"__Quiet," Baurus cut her off with his hand raised, focusing seriously in on the first volume of the Commentaries. After a few minutes, he began to mutter to him self. _

_"__Find anything?" Enura said in a small voice._

_"__Patience," Baurus stressed. "These are the ramblings of a madman."_

_"__Who would have thought?" Enura sarcastically remarked. "Oblivion is a crazy place. The books written about it wouldn't be no different." _

_She rubbed her bleary eyes and yawned. "The thing is, a cult like this would want lots of new people? 'Specially now that Dagon is on the move? The Mythic Dawn, like any other cult, would want people that follow orders without asking too many questions."_

_"__What's your point?" Baurus replied._

_"__The shrine can't be that hard to find," Enura explained. "You don't want to turn all those dumb people away, right?" _

_The two Blades sat in silence, contemplating this for a minute. Enura then launched out of her chair, waving the third volume in her hand screaming: "OH SHIT! OH SHIT!" _

_The code revealed itself with their combined efforts. Baurus left the poor elf to roam the graveyards around the White-Gold Tower for three days, wondering how in the Void she was going to reach the top of the tower. "Green Emperor Way Where Tower Touches Midday Sun" sounded specific enough. A break-in wasn't possible. Asking for permission seemed as unlikely. While ruminating on the problem at noon, Enura passed the glowing map of Cyrodiil carved on a mausoleum. Oops. _

"Yeah, so…" Enura continued. "I'm gonna rest up before dealing with that madness."

"I did hear about the shrine. It is wonderful to hear," Martin said happily. "It's a big step towards regaining the Amulet. You've done well."

"Baurus should get more credit." Enura inched towards the door. She could hear the howling winds of the mountains through the cracks.

"You're leaving the temple?"

"Going to Bruma."

"Dare I ask?"

"The Mages Guild has an alchemy lab."

"At one in the morning?"

"That's right. Shouldn't you be in bed your Majesty?"

"Shouldn't you?"

Enura blushed dark purple. "Some people are waiting for me. It's a gathering. Sort of."

Martin gave her a stern look, much like a disapproving priest would.

"Fine, fine. Ugh. I didn't want to freeze my ass off anyway."

_Dran khrassa. Volanaro and J'skar are gonna be pissed._

* * *

**Theme Song: "I Am a Rock" by Simon & Garfunkel**


End file.
